Angelique

by Carl Leckey

  I am up at the crack of dawn and have a walk around the village. I find Jonahs house in time to see him leaving in his car presumably heading for his office in Dover. Damn I could have used his phone and had a lift to the station. Never mind there is always the other phone the Landlord told me about. After breakfast at the pub I pack my bag, pay the tab and head for the post office.

  The telephone is not available for public use. I am reluctant to send a telegram from the village post office disclosing private details. Instead I write a long letter to Gunter outlining the problem and asking for his help. I plan to purchase the estate anonymously from the bank if feasible. I end the letter advising Gunter I will contact him a s a p when I arrive in Birkenhead in a day or so.

  Adding a PS I inform him I have met a police officer Bob Cranshaw who knows him from Palestine during the war.

  As I promised I also inform him about Jonah Wilkes lawyer who has greatly assisted me I enclose one of his business cards in the envelope.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Back to my roots

  The trip to Birkenhead is uneventful except for the fact it is much easier than my last journey when I came to the UK for my demob. Changing trains in London is the usual nightmare crossing to Euston from Victoria. The train I take is an express with only a few stops. As we near the end of the journey I notice we pass through Acton Bridge station at speed, I decide when I have sorted things out with my Mother if I find her I will visit Sandy here.

  Liverpool Lime street station.

  I must say I have a real buzz to be back in my home territory. I could take the underground to Hamilton square station but decide to walk to the Pier Head. As I stroll down the busy streets I greedily take in the sounds and sights of the city. The Scouse accents of the street hawkers take me back to the day I enlisted in the army. At the ferry terminal on the floating stage I catch the boat to Woodside. On the trip across the busy river Mersey I plan my search for my Mother.

  First on the agenda I must have a place to stay. Second I need to be mobile I shall arrange my own transport. I don’t want to rely on the trams or trains. I recall a nice hotel by Hamilton Square station where the Mersey Pilots frequent. This was from my street sweeping days. I grin to myself at the thought of mixing with such illustrious company as the River Pilots. In the past they hardly glanced in my direction as I cleared a path through the horseshit to the hotel giving a clean passage from the docks. The hotel is located alongside the pub known locally as the Parrot House. I decide this will do me fine as a base in the search for my Mother. I stroll up from the Woodside Ferry. As I pass the taxi rank by the big tunnel pumping building I hear a voice calling my name. Driving a taxi is one of my childhood friends Norman Hanson. “Hi! Adam! How you doing, long time no see? Where have you been hiding?”

  I go over to his cab. “Hiya, Norm glad to see you again. You were working in Lairds shipyard when I last saw you? Have you got time for a chat?” He replies. “No Sorry mate I have to pick up a regular fare, it’s a long story about the shipyard job. I haven’t got time right now to tell you what happened. Where are you living these days? I was sorry to hear about your Mum and Dad passing away. Your Mum, she was a lovely woman.”

  I inform him. “She was Norm. I regret I didn’t appreciate her when I was a kid. I gave her a lot of grief.

  By the way I’m not living in Birkenhead anymore Norm. As a matter of fact I’m just going to book in the hotel by the Parrot House.”

  He looks towards a shed with many windows located on the side of the road. “Look Adam. I’ll have to go now. The nosy controller is watching me from the office. I have only had this job for a short while. It’s the first steady one I have had since I was demobbed and I don’t want to lose it. I’ll come and see you later on in the bar of the Parrot House after I finish work. It’ll be about six o’clock. We’ll have a drink together and talk about old times. Great to see you mate. I often wondered what ever happened to you.” With a wave of his hand and a cloud of smoke from the taxi’s exhaust, Norman drives off. The hotel is small and homely sited in the right place for my purpose.

  An elderly bleary eyed male receptionist appears through a doorway located at the rear of the desk after two or three attempts to summon him on the call bell. Without a word he turns the register around for me to sign. He hands me a room key a brochure indicating the services available and returns to his hideout from whence he came. Presumably to continue with his disturbed nap. After a leisurely bath I have an excellent meal in a crowded dining room.

  I then make my way to the public bar of the pub nicknamed the Parrot House located on the corner. Drinking a pint of Walkers bitter I spend my time watching the antics of the customers. The two parrots are still in their place of honour at either end of the bar. I remember them from the days when as a kid my mates and I used to peep in the open doors in summer to look at the famous birds and listen to them cursing.

  Their language is still choice as they tell customers to close the f…. doors. The place is a hive of activity with wheeling and dealing taking place.

  Men from the nearby slaughter house are selling or trading hunks of meat. Bookies runners are paying out winnings to lucky punters

  Sailors of all nationalities are chatting up the local floozies or haggling about the price for a moment of passion in a nearby jigger.

  I must admit I have missed the Merseyside humour and accents.

  About six thirty Norman appears I buy him a pint and we take a seat at a table in the corner. He listens in awe as I describe my life since my demob. I don’t believe it is appropriate to reveal my good fortune.

  I simply inform Norman I have a well paid job as a driver in France.

  His life has been totally the opposite than mine. When he was demobbed war production at the local shipyards had ceased on the announcement of the armistice. He was in a reserved occupation and had disobeyed by joining up. He had lost his job as a plater’s mate he found it was no longer available. He found it hard to find other employment and spent the summer on local farms as a casual labourer. When the spud picking finished he was out of work. The taxi drivers job came up he grabbed it even though it is poorly paid and dependant on tips to make a living wage.

  “Where did you learn to drive Norm?” I enquire.

  He explains. “I was in the Royal Engineers in Egypt posted to the Canal Zone. A mate of mine taught me to drive on the QT. My chance came along when they were short of drivers. I told the MT Sergeant I could drive. I got the job as a Senior Officers staff car driver. Nice cushy number except for the bullshit. You know Adam sometimes I wish I was back in the Army, except for missing the Wife and kids of course. Thinking back I never had a care in the world. I was pretty well fed not much money though but we got it regular. I was well clothed and shod and we usually had somewhere decent to kip at night. Mind you I was lucky based out there away from the action. All we had to deal with was just a bunch of thieving Arabs trying to steal our gear. Johnnie Turk made threats some times, but I never saw any real action except on the convoy out there.

  One of the troop ships was sunk by a submarine. Good God! The sea was full of fellows screaming and shouting for help. Our ship couldn’t stop to help because we were a target ourselves. I suppose, us being full of troops and all. Some of the lads called the Captain a bloody murderer when he sailed away and left them, but what could he do? I’ll never forget that sight Adam for the rest of my life.” Norman visibly shudders as he recalls the wartime episode. He adds as if apologising for surviving. “I never had it rough like other poor buggers suffered in Europe and Gallipoli. Believe me I realise how lucky I was to get a cushy posting. Anyway enough of me, what are you doing back on home ground?” I inform him. “You know I spent the first years of my life in that shitty orphanage? Well I have recently found my real Mother. I haven’t met her yet she is up here in Birkenhead somewhere and I am determined to find her. Here Norm you may be able to help me, do you know where this address is?” I pull the detective agency
card out of my pocket and show it to him.

  “It’s off Exmouth Street! Course I know where it is, just at the top of Grange road.”

  I reply thoughtfully. “Top of Grange road eh?

  Well that’s handy I should be able to find it easily enough?”

  He enquires. “When do you plan going there?”

  I reply. “Tomorrow morning, the sooner the better I reckon. I have a few other places I want to go as well.” Norman advises. “You can walk I suppose it’s not that far, better still you don’t seem short of a few bob.” He scans my expensive clothes. “Why not hire my cab in the morning? I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. It will save me mooching about for fares and it will keep you out of the cold.”

  I enquire. “I was thinking about hiring a car but that seems a good idea. Do you own the taxi Norman?” He answers as if he is not sure. “Well half and half.

  The controller buys the vehicles then hires them to us. We drivers pay him back out of our earnings. Eventually in about ten years I get to own the Taxi. By then it will be knackered I suppose.” I point out. “Sounds a good deal for him Norm? Not so good for the drivers. Why not buy your own Taxi and operate without him?”

  He points out. “It’s all a matter of hackney carriage licences Adam. The council only allow so many licences and he has it sewn up. Where would I get the money from anyway?”

  “Hmmm it’s a pity you are not in France. I could do with a few more experienced drivers. The pay and conditions are good.” Norma interrupts me.

  “You could do with more drivers? What do you mean?” Hurriedly I reply. “I mean the company I work for. They are short of good drivers. There are quite a few of us English lads stayed over after the war and settled down with local girls.” He answers ruefully. “No chance of that. I wouldn’t mind living anywhere to get a good job. My Misses wouldn’t move from Birkenhead. She even considers Liverpool a foreign country. Talking about my Misses I better get going. I like to see the kids before they go to bed. Do you want my Taxi in the morning or not?” He stands up drains his glass and prepares to leave.

  “Pick me up at the hotel at nine in the morning. By the way how many kids have you got Norman?” He sticks three fingers up. I gasp when he reveals how many kids he has. Norman is only a few years older than me and yet he has a family. Wouldn’t my Wife envy him? I have the money and no chance of kids he has hardly any money and kids galore. He sees the astonishment on my face and confesses. “We had two before I joined up and one since I came home, er and I think she’s up the chute again.” He adds a little peevishly. “Seems I only have to drop my kecks and she is in the family way.”

  I congratulate him he informs me in a lowered voice. “There is not much else to do on cold nights if you have no money.” Norman smiles as he leaves the pub.

  After he departs there seems no point in remaining in the pub on my own. I drain my glass and am ready to leave when one of the local floozies approaches me. She is a nice looking girl around about my age. Although in my opinion she wears too much makeup. Who am I to judge? Maybe the over application of makeup is a tool of her trade making her distinguishable to her potential clients. I notice a couple of the other working girls appear to indulge in the same practice. I admit I have a lot to learn about the ways of the world. She introduces herself by asking. “Want to buy a nice girl a drink sailor boy?”

  I have to smile as I reply. “Sorry love I am not a sailor and am just leaving.” Without invitation she sits next to me on the bench pinning me in the corner thereby blocking my escape. “I’ve not seen you in here before. Travelling salesman are you? My name is Hilda by the way.

  What do I call you?”

  Without pausing or waiting for an answer she asks. “Well are you going to buy a girl a drink or what?”

  As it is only early and I have no intention of utilising her service but why not enjoy her company for a while.

  The barman is collecting pots I request him to bring Hilda what she drinks and I order another pint for myself. I open the conversation by stating. “To answer your questions Hilda, my name is Adam, no I haven’t been in here before. And I am not a travelling salesman.

  Hilda I hope you don’t mind but I am happily married. Now you can either keep me company until you spot another more promising client or you can have your drink and let me leave. It’s entirely up to yourself but I don’t want to see you wasting time on me.”

  She smiles. “OK Adam it’s nice to meet an honest man. If you don’t mind being seen in my company I will do what you suggest. Bless me I could do with a rest it’s been a busy day.”

  The drinks arrive she enquires. “I can tell you are a local lad Adam. Accents are my hobby you see.” She hesitates then adds. “But you have a little twang hard to place but I would guess you have a touch of French about you. Go on tell me where you come from?”

  I laugh and explain “Very good Hilda I was in France during the war and have lived there since the armistice. By Jove! I am amazed you detected an accent I didn’t know I had one, you are very clever.”

  She informs me in a sad voice. “I used to be an actress. I should still be if it hadn’t been for the damned war and the flu. Hey would you believe I was in a couple of shows at the Argyle? An, I’ve played the Tivoli New Brighton.” She reveals proudly.

  “Wow!” I exclaim admiringly. Thinking of the show I had enjoyed with Peggy at the Argyle on my last trip to England. “You played the Argyle Eh! That’s some achievement for someone of your age.”

  She explains. “My speciality was playing foreign Ladies. I had a brilliant speech coach until she died. She used to be an actress herself until she got married. She’d been in lots of top plays and shows. She’d even played in London you know?”

  She sniffs back a tear. “It was my Mum actually. The bloody flu carried her off a couple of years ago. My Dad was a merchant seaman and got lost without trace in the first year of the war.”

  Slightly embarrassed I find myself having to ask the usual question. “Hilda with your obvious talent what are you doing?” I am at a loss for words she finishes my question for me. “On the game you’re going to say?” She grimaces. “Got three kids to feed since Mum snuffed it and an actress’s job ain’t as well paid as this one I can tell you.”

  “Bloomin Heck! Hilda! You don’t look old enough to have three kids. What does your husband think about your er profession?” She sees someone entering the far door. “There is one of my regulars just came in. By the way I ain’t married. Those kids I mentioned are my Brothers and a Sister.” I observe the man she has spotted and remark. “He looks a bit out of place in here Hilda he looks like a posh gent to me?” She laughs and explains. “He is as regular as clockwork every two weeks. For your education watch what happens in the next few minutes, he won’t let on to me he don’t want to be seen in public with the likes of me you understand, he has his reputation to look after? He only comes in to make sure I is available. He’ll have hiself one half pint of mild and makes sure I see’s him. Then he leaves a couple of minutes later. I follow’s him around to a posh place just round the corner in Hamilton square. I don’t go into the front door you understand? I have to go up the jigger and in through the back door. It ain’t his proper house where he lives. I know that cos the caretaker told me he rents it by the hour.”

  I gasp in amazement and encourage her to continue with her disclosures by sounding doubtful.

  She reveals more of the goings on of the local bigwigs once she begins it is hard to stop her. Not that I wanted to I must admit to enjoying her company and her gossipy disclosures. “Hmm! That’s nothing.” She continues indignantly when she detects doubt in my voice. “What if I was to tell you that lots of the other gentry from around here use the place in Hamilton Square?”

  She drops her voice to a whisper and reveals. “I was a bit late leavin one day. The daft bugger was crying so much I held back to give him a bit of a cuddle, just to comfort him like. Anyway, just I was going out of the back
door, who would you believe was comin in the front door, and before you ask I know he was meetin one of my mates cos she told me?” I lean closer as she reveals. “It was only the bloomin vicar from the church I used to attend. You know the randy bugger baptised me? Hey! You should have heard the bloomin long boring sermons we used to sit through on a Sunday. He was always on about sinners burning in hells fire. I reckon he will be getting his arse scorched when he pops his clogs eh?” She giggles as she discloses this snippet. She takes a gulp of her drink and continues enthusiastically.

  “I was shocked to me inner bones I don’t mind telling you. That reminds me I asked my pal Judy what kind of treatment he has. She didn’t tell me all the details but I know she dresses as a nurse and he likes feedin bottles, nappies and all kinds of baby stuff.”

  “So she did tell you all eh?” I retort with a knowing smile.

  “No she didn’t, we all likes to keep our little secrets. Even best pals don’t tell all. I know about him cos I saw them in her basket when she was meeting him.” She explains confidentially. “Me and Judy are good pals and tell each other lots of other things especially if we have had a really bad client.

  We warn each other to give them sods a miss. I’ve had a few black eyes I can tell you before I got to recognise the bad buggers.”

  I enquire “I take it Judy is on the game as well as you Hilda?”

  She reveals. “I’ve known Judy forever, we was even at school together. She is a real pro, her Mum was on the game and her Granny was as well they taught her all the tricks of the trade so to speak. Judy is a kind of specialist she just deals with an elite clientele. She bought the list off one of the girls a few months ago. Pretty Polly was her name she hooked a rich fella and married him.”

  It goes through my mind how or why had she acquired that name, in the light of what Hilda revealed about the nick names the mind boggles.