An overwhelming ambition in those days was to be able to iifford from Lunt's a roll packed with cheese. These cost twopence, however, and I had to content myself with buying them for other members of the staff or just looking longingly at them through the bakery's steamy window.
And so I struggled blindly on from day to day. The trees in Princes Park, where on Saturday afternoons I took Edward to play, turned yellow and carpeted a neat circle of grass beneath them with curled-up leaves. Wet days became more frequent, and I delivered the letters each morning in shoes that became quickly sodden; the cardboard put into them to block up the holes
disintegrated, and tender bare soles were exposed to the pavement. I caught so many colds that the days when I was without one became ones of rejoicing. Liverpool air is always damp and, in those days, was filled with black particles fi-om a myriad of chimneys, so that nasal catarrh and bronchitis were endemic and gave rise to the famous, snuffly Liverpool accent. Like many of the population I blew my nose through my fingers onto the pavement, and kept my single handkerchief for neat dabs at my nose in the office.
Alan reached the age of fourteen in November and left: school shortly afterward. I was plunged into bitter and unfair jealousy, as I watched him set out for his first job as office boy in a new suit bought for the occasion. In his pocket he carried a bit of lunch wrapped in an old margarine paper and a penny for the tram, so that he would not have to climb the long hill home. He was given pocket money as a matter of course, so my battle evidently helped him. He was intelligent and quick-witted and very articulate. He had snatched the job from dozens of other applicants and deserved all the help my parents could give him.
The life of an office boy was very hard. In a tall, gloomy, Victorian building, he worked from eight-thirty in the morning until six o'clock at night and until one o'clock on Saturdays, for a wage of seven shillings and sixpence a week. Office boys were commonly hit when they made mistakes or if they dared to answer their seniors back, and the tight-lipped bookkeeper who taught him how to keep accounts was very heavy handed. He was still far from being fully developed and, like me, was painfiilly thin. Since he spoke "with a marble in his mouth, " he had been in many fights at school—it is not only sparrows who attempt to destroy those different from themselves—and sometimes, in the absence of the bookkeeper at lunch, a general fight would break out among the young men in the office. Though he fought back fairly skillfiilly, I can remember seeing bruises across his buttocks where he had been beaten with an old-fashioned rounded ruler.
Like me, Alan suffered from the lack of a raincoat and from inadequate footwear. Liverpool shares with Ireland not only Irish inhabitants but Irish weather. When it is not actually raining, there is still a misty dampness that seems to penetrate one's bones. Older people always seem to be complaining about "me
rheumatism" or "me arthritics" and say that they "hurt something wicked" on wet days.
Alan, Brian, and Tony all played cricket in the street, often with a beer bottle as a wicket and a piece of board as a bat. One of his older colleagues at work gave Alan his old cricket bat and pads, and this enhanced his chances of playing with other teams after he left school. He got a lot of pleasure from these games.
He also went to night school. He always says he learned a lot there. But he did not stay in the system very long, and he probably learned much more in the Auxiliary Air Force, which he joined a few years later.
I rejoiced in his good beginning in the business world, but I was most unchristianly envious of the interest and encouragement lavished on him by both Mother and Father. I prayed frequently and earnestly for strength to keep my temper. I was convinced that most of my misery was caused by lack of self-control. It was a long time before I realized that there is a limit to anybody's self-control, and that the only sin I had committed was to be bom to my mother at a time when she would otherwise have divorced my father. She could never forgive me for it.
As autumn merged into winter, the children began to look forward to Christmas, having been reminded of its coming by Brian and Tony's extra choir practices. For years, Fiona and I secreted all kinds of bits of wool, old socks and cotton scraps, and out of them we manufactured gifts for the family. Golliwogs and rabbits emerged from the socks, hand-hemmed handkerchiefs, handkerchief cases, pin cushions, and hair tidies, prettily covered boxes and pajama cases were made from the cotton scraps. I once made Fiona a doll's bed out of a shoebox; it was complete with little blankets and a bedspread, and she joyfully put her tattered doll into it. The doll was her only treasure from our old home. It was dreadfully dirty, and its papier-mache' feet and hands were nearly worn out; but its glass eyes still opened and closed, and it still had some hair.
Another time, I made a horse and cart for Edward. The horse was made out of corks found in the street. It had wobbly legs made out of slivers of firewood. The cart, which was a carton from a box of matches, had high wheels made from the tiny lids of ointment
tins, also found in the street gutters. Though it was not a very robust toy he played with it for several days before it fell to bits.
From their choir money, Brian and Tony bought little gifts for everybody. (One of my most treasured possessions is a pottery black cat given me by Tony, and, until recently, I had a tiny pottery donkey with a red pincushion on its back, bought for me by Brian. When, after forty-five years, I recently smashed the donkey, I stood over the scattered bits and cried. Both these treasures traveled halfway around the world with me. Another treasure is a crocheted red and yellow egg cozy made for me by Avril in one of her earliest sewing classes. Sometimes I take it out and think of the small, determined little girl stabbing away with a crochet hook too big for her fingers.)
Alan's shilling a week was strictly for pocket money, so he bought us all kinds of delightful gifts, like bottles of perfume and talcum powder from Woolworth's.
My parents always tried to make Christmas pleasant for the younger children. Only the first two Christmases in Liverpool were without any real effort at celebration. For two Christmases after I began work, a mysterious stranger telegraphed us five pounds. We never discovered who sent it, but it provided a dinner and a stocking full of small gifts for the little ones.
Alan and I, like all working people, had two days' holiday. Such was his exhaustion that on any holiday Alan slept until midday. For Fiona and me, however, there was never such a luxury. Boys needed rest; girls could manage without. Brian and Tony had to be gotten up and given their breakfast in time for them to sing at the Christmas services. Edward, like most little boys, was awake at sun-up, as was Father. On Sundays and holidays, Mother stayed late in bed, and Avril slept late, too. Holidays for me were not a time for relaxation, and I was always thankful to escape back to work. At work, people occasionally said, "Thank you."
In February, the cold and the lack of food caught up with me, and I fell ill. I staggered around the spinning office, dumbly terrified that if I said I was ill I would be dismissed, as girls in shops sometimes were. There was the further fear that if I had to stay at home. Mother would find means of keeping me there. She looked after Edward on days when she had no work; occasionally
Fiona would be kept at home to mind him, and on other days he was handed around to various neighboring women to be watched for a few hours. The problem was solved when he reached the age of four and could run along to school with Avril. Nothing seemed to disturb him much. Perhaps he realized that, despite the fights which raged over his head, he was never attacked, and we all loved him very much.
Though the gulf between Mother and me had, since infancy, appeared to me to be unbridgeable, she had recently begun to talk idly to me as if I were a woman. Only the surface of her mind seemed to be engaged in the conversation; somewhere deep underneath lay the real woman, with true passions and motives. But it was better than nothing. Depsite this small break, I still dreaded that she would again pass over her family responsibilities to me. So, in overwhelming fear, I fiambled about the offic
e making tea, sorting index cards, going out to deliver letters, while Mr. Ellis ranted that I was more than usually slow and stupid. My chest hurt, and my throat hurt, and I ached all over as I sought to please him. On the second day, like an Edwardian heroine, I collapsed quietly into a chair.
Everybody was concerned and kind. Smelling salts were thrust under my nose, tea was made, and when I could get up, Mary was instructed to escort me to the tram. I was not verv^ clear about what was happening and was shivering as Mary bundled me into the vehicle.
I sat down by a workman in torn work clothes and took out my last penny from Joan's handbag. I dropped it, and it rattled away down toward the front of the vehicle. The workman looked up from his Echo, while I sat aghast, feeling that even if I could find the coin under the feet of all the other passengers, I would collapse if I bent over to retrieve it.
The skinny conductor, rattling his money bag as warning, came down the aisle to collect the fares. I sat silent, waiting to be thrown off at the next stop because I did not have the fare.
The middle-aged workman next to me folded up his paper and proffered a sixpence to the conductor. "Two woons, lad," he said.
The conductor punched two tickets, handed them to him, and wandered on down the aisle. The man handed one of the
tickets to me. " ere ya, luv," he said, his rough red face beaming.
M' 'oice seemed to come from far away, as I said, "Thank you. Thank you veiy much. You are most kind."
"Aye, that's all right, luv."
He returned to his folded paper, and I looked down at the stubby fingers holding it—many cuts about the knuckles and nails were broken to the quick. The memory of those battered hands and of their wonderfully perceptive owner stayed with me through the illness that followed.
Contributions to National Health Insurance entitled workers to the serv ices of a doctor. When my parents came home and found me shivering in my bed, they sent for the general practitioner with whom I had registered my name.
He came marching into the smelly, bug-ridden bedroom, went straight to the window and flung it open, waited for a moment, and then closed it partially. In the light of a candle held by Mother, he examined me and diagnosed influenza and tonsillitis. The tonsillitis had caused an ear infection. He ordered that more covering than the single blanket and old overcoat on my bed be put over me, a fire be made in the bedroom, the window kept slightly open. He painted my throat with tannic acid, put drops in my ears, and ordered aspirin to alleviate the influenza. He was a handsome man with a very white skin and a large black mustache. He was exceedingly kind to me over the three weeks of my illness, coming in daily to paint my throat, and assumed an almost godlike character in my romantic mind.
He also ordered a light diet of milk, eggs, and orange juice. This seemed to be out of the question. But Mother did make bread and milk for me, and for the rest I had bouillon cubes dissolved in hot water, toast, and tea. When there was enough coal, a fire was made for me by Father, but most of the time we were too short of fuel, despite the fact that my kind employer continued to send my wages by mail, and Mother cashed the postal orders.
For days I lay in my cold bed watching the sleet and rain of February' through the dusty, finger-marked window, too exhausted by fever and pain to think. The children were used to my retiring temporarily to bed with bouts of tonsillitis and rarely came to see me except at bedtime. Edward had been moved from my bed in case of infection and shared my parents' bed; but as
soon as the fever had departed, Mother used me as a baby-sitter for him, which meant I dared not sleep during the day.
Once I could walk about the house, I asked the doctor to certify me as fit. I told him that if I was away much longer, I might lose my job. This was such a common reason for going back to work before one was fit, that he signed the certificate. I washed and ironed my blouse and panties, mended my stockings, and the next day reported to work.
It seemed as if the staircases had grown longer in my absence, and the distances I had to walk to deliver letters seemed to have expanded to infinity. Several times I had to lean against a wall until bouts of faintness passed.
It took such a very long time to walk home that Father became anxious and set out to meet me. We came face to face beside the Philharmonic Hall, where he had paused to glance at the tattered black-and-white posters announcing their concerts.
His cheap na^y-blue suit shone at the elbows and seat, and it hung on him. He looked cold and forlorn without a raincoat, and his thin, lined face showed anxiety, as he hastened toward me.
"Where have you been?" he inquired, as he took my elbow and turned toward home. "We've been worried about you."
"I had to wait for the letters to be signed before I posted them," I muttered, my breath coming in short gasps after the effort of climbing the hill.
"You should have taken the tram home," Father said. "You're not fit to walk."
All the misery of years burst from me in one long, subdued howl: "I didn't have any money."
"Good God!" He stopped and looked into my woebegone face. "I thought it was arranged that you should have a shilling a week for pocket money and fares."
"Mother didn't have any of my wages left, when I asked her this morning. " I sobbed.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Dear Lord!" he exclaimed in exasperation.
This was the first time for many years that Father and I had been together without any other member of the family present, and it was as if he came out of his usual absent state and really looked at me. The sight seemed to have some impact.
I continued to wail softly as we inched our way along while he lupported me by the elbow.
My sobs receded, and I turned toward him. His large, high-bridged nose was scarlet from acne roseola, the rest of the skin an mhealthy yellow. His shirt and collar had reached an off-white ?olor from too much washing with too little soap, and his trousers )adly needed pressing. His expression was so sad that I nearly )urst into tears again. When he was not absorbed in a book or ]uarreling with Mother, he could be quite lighthearted and very vitty, but now I was again reminded of a butterfly caught in a ainstorm. With horrid clarity, I saw, not a vague, exasperating igure called Father, but a defeated man, and for a moment I valked with him through the morass of despair into which he had alien.
As we slowly made our way toward home, we began to feel comfortable together, like walking wounded helping each other, rhough we did not talk much, because I was too exhausted, a eeling of understanding began to grow between us.
Before we entered the house. Father took a sixpence from his vaistcoat pocket and pressed it into my hand.
"Come home on the tram every day," he ordered.
I stared down at the tiny silver coin, too tired even to thank lim, and then nodded agreement and slipped the coin into my landbag.
He pulled the string hanging from the letterbox and released he latch of the front door. He swung the door open and stepped 3ack onto the pavement with a little bow, to allow me to pass in irst. Poignantly, that polite gesture brought home to me, more ban anything else, how different he was from the men who lived iround us. Little Avril once expressed a similar idea. She said, "I ove Daddy. He is so gentle, and he is the only man in the street vho wears a collar."
TWENTY
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I soon gained strength again and, through long days, sHd silently between the patient, smelly clients, carrying cups of tea or files or messages. Sometimes I felt like advising the quietly courteous interviewers that our funds would do as much good if they were simply scattered in the back streets and left for the inhabitants to pick up. In large areas of Liverpool there was barely an inhabitant who was not in distress. Workless, half-starved, they were packed into deteriorating houses lacking proper toilets or nmning water. They were often shiftless and stupid, many spent their money on drink and some on drugs, but their need was blatantly manifest to anyone who
cared to walk down the long treeless streets and through the narrow courts. Born and bred in such shocking conditions, who could blame them for seeking at every- opportunity the garish warmth of the public houses?
It was pathetic to watch the clients doing their best not to use coarse language before the gently bred ladies of our organization. Their usually loud voices were lowered to the whispers of the confessional, as they hesitantly chose words that would please, not offend. They never laughed.
In fact, nobody laughed, except the shorthand typists in their isolated nest on the top floor. It was not an environment calculated to raise the spirits of a sad and sick fifteen-year old.
Grandma had, however, taught me to read out of the Bible, and I believed firmly in miracles. I had also not yet totalK lost my belief in fairies, particularly Robin Goodfellow, a wicked sprite who sometimes snatched cups from my careless fingers and smashed them on the floor or who lost my pencils and dropped the hairpins out of my hair.
When the Presence sent for me one sunny Ma moniing, therefore, I was expecting to be upbraided for the breakage of a cup and saucer. Instead, she performed a miracle.
I stood humblv before her desk, blue wraparound crumpled
and splashed, greasy hair untidily knotted into a bun. Fortunately, she was too busy to look up at me.
She had a letter in her hand, and she announced, as she read it, that I was entitled to two weeks' holiday that summer and had been granted a free holiday in a place called Kent's Bank. Mr. Ellis would tell me when I could go, and a train ticket would be sent to me. It did not strike me at the time that she might have asked me if I would like to go. I was ordered to depart for Kent's Bank on a date to be arranged.
Minerva's Stepchild Page 24