Another bolt of lightning lit the night black sky followed within seconds by a deafening roar of thunder that shook the ground along which the girls hurried, pressing together under the too small umbrella. The rain now lashed down with an unstoppable fury, bouncing off the track and foaming up in the rapidly widening gully along each side. They screamed as another flash illuminated the bowling greens with an incandescent, spectral glow and the instant explosive rumble shook the corrugated steel sheeting of the shelter as they gratefully dived under its cover. They huddled together on the seat, holding the umbrella out in front to keep the lashing rain off their skirts. The noise from the metal roof was like a thousand drummers. Unable to speak, they watched the bowling greens fluorescing as the angry gods sustained their thunderous attack on the insignificant specks of the city.
For ten minutes the spectacular display tore through the skies in an unremitting show of unbridled power and the peals of thunder followed each other like a rolling barrage. But the gap between the jagged flashes and the numbing roar gradually lengthened, the rain eased and the girls released their fearful grip of each other. ‘Oh, my God, Pip,’ Amy eventually said. ‘Are we still here? I thought that we might finish up like a pair of charred currant buns after that lot.’
‘That was really frightening,’ Pippin whispered. ‘Especially sat out here right in the middle of it. Everywhere is flooded and it’s still coming down.’
Curtains of water were streaming from the overloaded gutters on the shed and splashing noisily into the widening pools on the path in front of them. A loud wailing cry pierced momentarily through the racket from the roof and the waterfall before their eyes, and then dying away just as suddenly. Grabbing her friend’s arm, Pippin said urgently, ‘Perhaps there’s a dog in trouble. We will have to go and look.’
‘Pip, it’s still throwing it down. Look out there. We’d finish up looking like drowned rats.’
‘It might be injured and needs some help. We can’t just leave it to die.’
They heard the baying cry again, culminating in a stuttering, sobbing groan. ‘That’s no dog, Pip. That sounded like a man.’
‘And he sounded in a bad way. We must go and find him. It sounded as though it was coming from somewhere up there,’ Pippin said, waving her hand up to the left.
‘Come on then, let’s go and look. You won’t rest until you have.’ The girls linked arms, held the umbrella erect and ducked quickly into the next section of the seats. They were completely empty but again they heard the piteous cry. In the next section they found him, a wretched quivering figure, his head down on his knees and his hands gripping into his hair as huge sobs erupted from him. ‘Not again, not again, sweet Jesus, not again,’ he pleaded of his unseen Lord. ‘We can’t go over again.’ A great keening wail reached out through the storm, yearning for deliverance from his unseen torment. ‘Won’t it ever stop?’ he howled, looking up into the glowering sky. ‘I’ve had enough, I’ve had bloody enough of it. Sodding bastards,’ he screamed. ‘Sodding German bastards and your bastard blue eyed kids. Who this time? Your sodding mothers is it? You’re scum,’ he raged at the warring clouds, ‘bastard scum. You killed my Lizzie, you might as well kill me.’ He fell back onto the seat and lay in a foetal position, his body wracked with the spasm of great, pained sobs. ‘Not again, please God, not again.’
Pippin stepped forward, holding out her hand. ‘Mr Murphy? Are you alright, Mr Murphy?’
‘Not again. The smell. It makes you sick. And the mud, slimy bastard mud, treading on bodies. The stink. I can’t do it again,’ he moaned. ‘I’m not going over. The bastards can just shoot me.’
Pippin touched his hand. ‘Mr Murphy, it’s ok. There are no Germans. You are at home… in Salford. It’s over now.’
In an instant, Liam was up on his feet and standing in the still pouring rain, peering out across the sheet of water that had been the bowling green. ‘Look, the rats are coming back in the trench. Even they are fed up.’ He shielded his eyes from the rain with a violently shaking hand. The girls both looked out but there was nothing; just the flickering reflections in the water. Liam turned, desperately agitated, polishing the toe of his shoes on the back of his trousers. ‘They’ll be blowing the whistle in a bit,’ he said, searching frantically, though fruitlessly, through his pockets. His face was white and tense, a red scar running from close to a throbbing vein into the greying hair above his ear. ‘I can’t find my stuff. Where are my letters? They’ve gone,’ he yelled, the panic rising in his voice.
Pippin looked over to Amy, standing apprehensively some distance away, and signalled to her to take Liam’s other arm. They guided him gently back into the seat and flanked him, each holding a hand. ‘Mr Murphy. It was only a storm, a really bad storm but that’s all it was, a storm,’ Pippin said reassuringly.
‘It has passed over now, Mr Murphy,’ Amy added soothingly. ‘It was a bit frightening but it is over now.’
Liam looked at them, suddenly aware of their presence. There was a deep pain in his puzzled eyes. ‘Girls?’ he said. ‘Jesus, not girls now. Surely they wouldn’t send their girls.’
‘Mr Murphy,’ Pippin said firmly. ‘I am Laura Craigie, the daughter of your friend, Edward. This is my friend, Amy, who lives in the next street to you.’
Amy smiled at Liam. ‘We are friends of your Billy,’ Amy added.
‘Ames, lend me your brolly for a bit,’ Pippin instructed. ‘Will you stay here with Mr Murphy. I’m going to get my dad to come down. If he’s not there, I’ll get Mam to come. She will know what to do.’
‘But, Pip. You’re not leaving me here by myself?’
‘I won’t be long. You keep talking to Mr Murphy.’
‘Right, hurry up then. I don’t really know what to say.’
‘Talk about anything. Ask him about the rugby at the Willows. Talk about people he knows. But don’t tell him what the girls at the mill talk about,’ she added hastily.
Turning quickly, she lifted the umbrella and with a quick wave, disappeared down the flooded track. Amy turned apprehensively to Liam who was now studying her with a nervous intensity. ‘I’m Tommy Benson’s girl,’ she explained.
‘I knew Tommy.’
‘Oh! Yes. He didn’t come back.’
‘No. Have you come looking for him?’
‘I… I’m sorry,’ Amy stammered. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You won’t find him here, you know, down in the trench.’
‘Oh, no. I know that. He died.’
‘Right. Why did you come down then? It’s dangerous here. Not the place for girls.’
‘I know. But I thought it would be nice to talk to you about him. Do you remember him from before the war?’
There was a long pause as Liam stared down at Amy’s hands gripping his. ‘Aye, I do,’ he said finally. ‘He was in the Terriers with us. Knew him well enough.’
‘Mr Murphy. What did you think of my dad?’
‘He was a nice enough fella. Brave lad; had to admire him. Bit barmy sometimes.’
‘No. I mean, what did you think of him outside of being a soldier?’
Liam hesitated. ‘I don’t know as I knew him that well. He came from Hulme originally. He didn’t play rugby or anything.’
‘He played bowls. Used to love that,’ Amy told him. ‘He played down here a few times.’
Liam looked puzzled. ‘Down here? How… what…?’
‘Over there,’ Amy said, waving towards the now emerging greens. ‘You remember, don’t you, Mr Murphy? Ordsall Park? You brought me and Pip down here sometimes with your Billy.’
Liam stared around at the dripping trees, the flooded paths, the flowers pounded flat by the ferocious downpour. His eyes betrayed his turmoil, his inability to comprehend what she was saying. But deep inside the settling of his mind was revealing some slight scraps of recognition.
‘Don’t you remember the lake over there? You brought Pip’s brother, Ted, down here with your Billy and they swam in the lake.’
‘You haven’t brought our Billy down here have you? I was looking…, I couldn’t find him.’ The sentence drifted away as Liam stared at the waterlogged park.
‘Mr Murphy. My dad, Tommy Benson, did you ever bump into him when you were out?’
‘Aye, round Cross Lane. He liked a drink, as far as I remember. Had plenty of friends.’
‘He used to belt my mother when he came home. I used to hide in my bedroom and lock the door. I could hear her screaming downstairs and him shouting and throwing things around. Sometimes my mother used to say “I’ll swing for him one of these days.”’
Liam now looked at the troubled face of the girl who was sitting on the form next to him, an anxious frown revealing a pained vulnerability. Perhaps there was something familiar. Just a child when…, ‘I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know Tommy was…’
‘It’s ok. Next morning it was back to normal. Sometimes he’d cry and swear that it would never happen again. But it did. He was a good artist, you know, my dad. He used to draw pictures of the people in our street and make me laugh with the things that he had them doing. He had one of Mrs Sidebottom riding down the street on a donkey. Its legs were bandy because she was, well, you know…’
‘Fat,’ Liam proffered. ‘I remember her, lived half way up on the right, very er, stout.’
‘He was good at drawing buildings as well. He did a brilliant one of Stowell’s Church. Said it was his favourite building in the whole world because that’s where he and Mam got married.’ Amy watched the flickerings of memory in Liam’s eyes and squeezed his hand. ‘Look, Mr Murphy, sunshine.’ A band of dazzling bright light reflected off the watery surface of the bowling green and slowly illuminated the dark trees beyond. ‘My dad used to say not to be frightened of the thunder and lightning because it was only the sunshine struggling to get out.’
‘The sunshine is nice here in…?’
‘In Ordsall Park, Mr Murphy.’
‘Ordsall Park. Did you say that you saw our Billy somewhere?’ Liam asked, recalling the mission that had brought him here originally.
‘He was with some lads near the gate earlier. He’ll be sheltering somewhere from the storm.’
‘Was there a storm?’ Liam asked, puzzled.
‘Yes. All that thunder and lightning. It’s finished now. We’ve got this lovely sunshine to dry it all up.’
Liam turned to Amy. ‘I had a little girl once. Lizzie. She was taken off us. I… I… wasn’t there when she went. I… never got to pick her up when she fell.’
‘I remember her, Mr Murphy. She was a lovely little girl.’
‘She was here, in that bombardment. Like in a dream. She’s gone again now.’
Amy took hold of both Liam’s hands. ‘I’ll be your Lizzie, Mr Murphy, if you want me to.’
A halo of haze hung on to the dripping bushes as the hot sun remedied the excesses of the now passed thunderstorm. Pip had come back to the Park with both her father and Mrs Murphy and they had persuaded the still confused and quivering Mr Murphy to go back home.
Mrs Murphy had told Amy that Billy and her husband had been arguing again and Billy hadn’t come home last night after storming out. It had been the usual thing about money. Billy had been asking for some money to go to the picture-house and his father had grown quite angry when his son had become abusive because they had to refuse him. She felt sorry for Billy when they were not able to give their children things like some of the other parents could do. Billy resented his dad being there. He was a funny age, and he blamed his father for everything that was wrong in their lives.
Amy felt hurt and angry by this revelation of her friend’s thoughtless disregard for his father’s feelings, his total lack of care for the sacrifices that the older generation of men had made, the hardships that they had endured. He had suffered enough without having to come back to all this.
‘Why are boys so pig-headed and selfish?’ she had hissed to Pippin. ‘They just want everything for nothing.’
She had gone to the Park gates where she had seen Billy and his friends earlier but they had obviously left when the storm started. Irritated by his absence, she turned to go back through the Park. She remembered that one of them had been carrying a football so she headed back now to the football pitches. Deep puddles were still lying across some parts of the pathway and she raised her skirt for most of the way to avoid mud splashes round the hem. An elderly lady, pushing a wooden cart, swooshing through the water on an intersecting path, nodded a greeting to Amy. Sitting on a cushion in the cart, a rotund cat with a self-satisfied smile gazed disdainfully at her. She nodded back and glowered wilfully at the cat.
The footballers were spattered in mud but she soon recognised Billy; full of fearless energy and shouting at everybody. She called his name as he ran past but he ignored her. The next time she tried again and he vaguely acknowledged her with a wave of his hand. On the third occasion, she stepped out in front of him and, ignoring its muddy condition, she grabbed his jersey. ‘Don’t you ignore me, Billy Murphy, when I am shouting you.’
He tried to push her away but she was not to be dismissed. ‘What do you think you are doing, woman. I am trying to have a game of football here and girls are not invited.’
‘Don’t you woman me, you smelly male object. I need to talk to you and I am not waiting for an invitation,’ she spat, her teeth clenched.
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you,’ he answered, trying unsuccessfully to pull her hands away. ‘Just let go, will you? You are making a fool of me in front of all my mates.’
‘If you don’t come over here and talk to me, Billy Murphy, then I will make an even bigger fool of you in front of your mates. I will tell them how we found you dressed up in Pip’s clothes one day.’
A look of horrified fear spread across his face. ‘You can’t tell them that. I was only eight and me and Eddie were doing a pantomime to entertain the others.’
‘Do you think that they will care about that? Either you come over here and talk to me or I will call Frankie Lee over and start giving him the sordid details.’
Billy winced. He knew that if she began to detail such a story to his arch-rival as alpha male in the group, his credibility would be instantly destroyed. He glared at her but allowed himself to be led over to the touchline. She immediately demanded an explanation for his apparently selfish behaviour and for his unreasonable attitude towards his father. After much stuttering and posturing, he explained that he was fed up of them having nothing; no proper food; no new clothes; no money to go anywhere. And his dad had just come back after all those years and moved in as though he owned the place. And his mother was fussing over him all the time and just ignoring him and his brother or telling them to get out of their dad’s chair.
Searching in his mind for justifications, he didn’t notice her clenched fists or her face white with anger. ‘And what have you done about all this?’ she almost screamed.
Startled by her venom, he struggled to understand her question. ‘What do you mean, what have I done?’
‘It’s obvious what I mean. What have you done about bringing in some money to pay for all these things that you are always demanding?’
‘It’s not up to me to be earning money to feed everybody. It’s not my house,’ he argued defensively.
‘It’s your home, though. And it’s your mouth that you are wanting to stuff with sausages and chips.’
‘Well, I have looked round for work and there’s nothing going. What am I supposed to do?’ he said.
‘Isn’t that exactly what your dad is finding? There are hardly any jobs. If you had gone part-time like me when you were twelve, you might have had something by now,’ Amy cried.
‘It’s not my job to be the breadwinner, anyway,’ Billy grumbled.
‘It wasn’t your dad’s job to go out there and risk getting his head blown off, but he went.’
‘Aye, well. It might have been better if he had got it blown off. At least Mam would have got a bit o
f a pension then.’
Amy barely controlled her furious rage. ‘People like you, Billy Murphy, make me really angry,’ she yelled at him, her face only inches from his. ‘I would catch rats and eat them if I could have my dad back. I can’t even go and visit his grave and say goodbye to him. Don’t you understand how beaten up your father is? He lost his daughter when he was out in Egypt somewhere and blames himself for that. He shot lads who were no older than you because they had been sent to shoot him.’
‘Well that’s not my fault. You can’t blame me for that. He chose to join up, not me.’
Amy sobbed, raising her hands in despair and thumping him on the chest. ‘Don’t you see, you stupid, blind fool? Your dad and Pip’s dad. They have come back half the men that they were, haunted by what they have been through. Your dad is tormented by his nightmares and you abandon him because you want to go and see some pathetic picture.’
‘I would have gone out there if I had been old enough,’ Billy said, with a false bravado, uneasy at the tears of this normally tough girl.
‘You are unbelievable. My dad has not come back. He is out there lying in some field with thousands of others. He is dead, Billy Murphy, and he hasn’t even got a grave to put flowers on. They didn’t go out there to get themselves shot up. They went out there and risked their lives so that you wouldn’t have to,’ she cried, bending almost double with her desperate sobbing.
Chapter 10
The air in his bedroom was warm, humid, almost stifling, and Callum’s hands felt sticky as he studied the cinema and theatre listings in the Reporter. Nothing in there intrigued or excited him. There was no film or show that would appease his restless mind and it would be too uncomfortable, anyway, to sit in a crowded hall in this weather. He was perched on the end of his bed, searching despondently for ideas of how he could fill his increasingly vacuous social hours, and it seemed frustratingly pointless. He didn’t enjoy the pub that much, he already played billiards twice a week, and he felt like a cuckoo intruding into an alien nest when he visited members of the family.
Rags, Bones and Donkey Stones (Sequel) Page 7