When Day is Done

  Essy agreed and told Kate that she and her dressmaker-lodger, Miss Clarke had made good use of the time. They were provisioned as though for a siege. ‘Miss Clarke says this is what all her posh clients are doing. She’s a proper clever woman, Kate. You should see the books and newspapers she reads.’

  ‘She’s got a real gift for sewing,’ Kate said.

  ‘Yes, but she’s clever in other ways. She said war was bound to come and because this is an island we’d go short of food.’

  ‘But we’ve got plenty of farms and factories in this country,’ Kate protested.

  ‘Yes, but she made me look at the labels on tins, and they come from all over the world. And what about things like tea and sugar and pepper? Come and see what we’ve got put by.’

  Kate was astounded when Essy showed her a large storeroom filled with tins of meat, fish and fruit, and large catering packs of tea and coffee beans. On the floor were sacks of flour and sugar. ‘You won’t go hungry, that’s for sure,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No. You know, Miss Clarke never says anything about herself, but when we started this she said, “I’ve known what it is to be hungry and I’m not ever going to endure that again.” She never said any more, mind you.’ She took Kate next to one of the small bedrooms and showed her more tins and packets of food, and numerous bolts of material of every description, as well as bars and tablets of soap.

  ‘This must have cost a fortune,’ Kate gasped.

  ‘We both put our savings into it,’ Essy said, ‘but Miss Clarke says we’ll be glad when everything goes short. She told me not to talk about it but I know you won’t say anything, Kate.’

  ‘But don’t tell anyone else, Essy. People could turn nasty if they were short and they knew about this,’ said Kate.

  Kate was enjoying her job in the grocery shop and the variety of women she met through it. They all had views on the conduct of the war and expressed them freely. A Coalition Government had been formed, with Winston Churchill as Prime Minister, and not many of the women approved. ‘Look at all the men he got killed in the Dardanelles the last time,’ one woman said. ‘My eldest brother for one, and all for nothing.’

  The women were sceptical too about the news reports that the British and French armies were retreating to prepared positions to lure the Germans into a trap. ‘I don’t think so,’ a stout woman named Mrs Greaves said. ‘Sounds to me as if that feller Hitler’s got the run of the place. And I don’t trust them Frenchies either. They’re all foreigners after all.’

  Kate repeated some of these comments when she went to see Rose and Robert on Sundays, and Robert laughed at them, but he looked thoughtful.

  ‘It’s a good thing Mr Chamberlain got us that year to get ready,’ Kate said.

  Robert pointed out that it had also been an extra year for preparations by Germany. ‘And that meeting between Hitler and the French and Italian leaders and Chamberlain in ‘38. They gave away too much to Hitler. The Sudentenland, which was Yugoslavia’s barrier against him, the big munitions factory in Pilsner and invaluable mineral deposits. I think it was a bad mistake by Chamberlain,’ said Robert.

  ‘So you agree with Churchill as Prime Minister?’ Kate said.

  ‘I don’t like the man,’ Robert said. ‘But he might be what we need now. He might have learned from his mistakes in the last war, and he has the power of rhetoric.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Kate.

  Robert laughed. ‘The gift of the gab,’ he said. ‘He’s a tub-thumper and he can make rousing speeches. And he also has every confidence in himself – sure he is always right – so he’ll be a strong leader anyway.’

  Kate went less often now to the house in Sandfield Park, chiefly because she needed her Sundays to rest after a week of demanding work, standing for long hours, as well as her WVS work and broken nights.

  She had been hurt by her realisation that Rose had to explain her away to her friends, but common sense came to her aid. It was history repeating itself, she decided. Her visits to her rich relations were now to Rose’s home instead of Beattie’s, and she had never expected or wanted to be included in Beattie’s social life. She was content to know that Rose loved her, and so did Robert and the boys, and she loved them.

  In May the truth emerged that France had been overrun. The capitulation of the Belgians had cut off the British Expeditionary Force and the 1st French Army, and British ships converged on the port of Dunkirk to take off the men.

  John wrote home from school in great excitement.

  Haldane’s brother David was in France with the Cheshire Regiment and he was brought back to England wearing just underpants. David saw one fellow completely naked with eight watches up his arm. He said there were warships anchored and dozens of little boats taking the fellows out to them. Everything that could float was there, he said, and chaps queued in the water to be taken off the beach. Some of the little boats took men straight back to England – British and Frenchmen but mostly British. I wish Richard was flying. There were only a few of our planes to stop the Jerries bombing our fellows. I can’t wait to be eighteen.

  What was really a disaster was hailed as a triumph because so many men were saved, although their heavy equipment was lost. Hitler declared that he would invade England on 18 July, and Churchill made a stirring speech vowing that the country would never surrender.

  Kate recognised the truth of Robert’s words when she saw how people responded to the speech. Her customers, who knew little about geography, assumed that the Germans would sail up the Mersey and declared that they would be ready for them. ‘Any Jerry puts his foot near my door’ll wish he’d never been born,’ declared Mrs Greaves, and another woman said, ‘Let them come near my house and it’ll be the rock they perish on. I wish that Hitler would come. I’d cut off more than his moustache.’

  The manager, Mr Dutton, said quietly to Kate, ‘And if one of them did and he was hurt they’d take him in and give him a cup of tea. I know these women.’ Kate laughed but thought he was probably right. There had been a case reported of a crashed German pilot being taken in by a farmer’s wife in Lancashire. When the Civil Defence arrived they found him tucked up in bed sipping tea. ‘He’s some mother’s son,’ the woman had said.

  The women were not tested, as Hitler had to abandon his plans for invasion. Richard was not yet flying, but those who were fought heroically to drive away or destroy the German planes which came in numbers, chiefly over the south coast, to clear the way for invasion barges.

  As one sunny day followed another, dog fights were constantly fought in the skies above England, with the often exhausted RAF pilots gradually winning the battle, but at great cost. Churchill spoke for everyone when he paid tribute to the pilots, saying, ‘Never has so much been owed by so many to so few.’

  Richard had gone first to Regent’s Park in London to be fitted out for aircrew, but had only been there a short time before moving to Scarborough, where he was billeted in a girls’ boarding school. He wrote to Kate that unfortunately the girls had been evacuated before they arrived, but when he came home on leave he showed little interest in girls, although several showed interest in him.

  He was an attractive young man, tall and slim with dark hair and eyes like his father and the same fine, sensitive expression and features. The RAF uniform was smart, and he wore a white flash on his cap and a badge of a two-bladed propeller on his sleeve to denote that he was training for aircrew, which made him even more attractive to the girls. He, however, talked of nothing but his training and constantly practised Morse with an Aldiss lamp and a buzzer that John had acquired as a cadet.

  John was eighteen in July and immediately joined the Cheshire Regiment as a private. Rose complained that he should have applied for a commission, but he told her that he expected to have more fun as a private. ‘Fun!’ Robert exclaimed. ‘That boy has a lot to learn,’ but he was too busy to think more about it.

  Rose was also busy with her WVS work, and when Richard and John both managed sh
ort leaves at the same time in November they agreed that they had never seen their mother so active and happy. Both were concerned about their father, though, and urged him to slow down.

  ‘You’ve got a good manager in Stan Horrocks. Delegate more, Dad,’ Richard said, but Robert claimed that it was not the actual work.

  ‘It’s all the other problems. Supply and the red tape. You never saw such a mountain of forms, all required yesterday,’ he said.

  Richard looked at his lined, exhausted-looking face. ‘I wish I could help, Dad. I’m almost sorry I opted for the RAF,’ he said.

  Robert looked alarmed. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’ he asked. ‘I thought you loved the life, Rich.’

  ‘I do,’ Richard assured him. ‘I just don’t want you to kill yourself before I get home.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m tougher than I look,’ Robert said with a grin. ‘You just look after yourself.

  There had only been scattered raids on the Liverpool area before September, but from then, although the main raids were on London, Belfast and Coventry, the attacks on Merseyside became more frequent.

  Richard and John were due to go back off leave at the end of November, but just before that the worst raid so far occurred. The warning had gone at seven o’clock but they were meeting friends for a goodbye drink and decided to ignore it, as often there was an interval before the bombers arrived. But after a quick drink, the crashes and bangs as bombs were dropped and the heavy, intimidating drone of the German aircraft overhead made them decide to start for home.

  They were picking their way along the littered road by the light from burning buildings when some sixth sense made Richard pull John back. A large red-hot piece of shrapnel fell, missing John’s head but landing on his Army boot. He yelped and tried to shake it off, and a passing ARP man carrying a shovel removed it.

  ‘Is your foot all right?’ Richard said anxiously, but the ARP man said crossly, ‘Get in a shelter, both of youse. The money it costs to train yis and you take chances like that. Wasting the country’s money.’ He hustled them into a shelter, and they went in laughing at his comments. John was able to take off his boot. His sock had shrivelled away, but a St John Ambulance girl put a burn dressing on his toes. She also lent him an ancient knitted slipper to wear.

  Two old women in the shelter had been interested spectators, and one of them shook her head. ‘You’ll never come no nearer than that to getting yer lot,’ she said.

  The other woman added, ‘An’ coming in here laffin’. Yer must have been born to be hung.’

  ‘That’s right,’ the first old woman said. ‘Born to be hung or born under a lucky star, like they say. Hitler won’t get you anyroad, lad.’

  Although Richard knew it was irrational to be comforted by the words of the old women, he often remembered them in the months to come when he knew that John was in danger.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate enjoyed her work in the grocery. She liked her customers who lived in the small houses in the area, and she liked the manager, Mr Dutton, a kindly man who used his discretion when dealing with the customers and their rations.

  Several of them were old people living alone in one room, and they often told Kate that tea had been their only comfort for years. Now the tea ration was two ounces a week per person, totally inadequate for those living alone, although large families fared better because they could share a pot.

  A certain amount was allowed for wastage when weighing out tea and sugar, which was also rationed, and Mr Dutton turned a blind eye when Kate gave old people double rations and saved scarce items like bacon ribs and bottles of sauce for them. Sauce was unrationed, and they spread it on bread, which saved the butter ration and made a tasty addition to their diet.

  Mrs Greaves had her husband, two sons and a daughter still at home, and she told Kate that they were living better than they ever had, as were many of her neighbours. ‘We’ve got money coming in regular now, see. The food was there before the war but we didn’t have no money to buy it. My feller was down at the docks morning and afternoon looking for a half-day’s work and hardly ever getting took on. It used to break my heart to see his face when he come home. Now he’s working in Long Lane on munitions regular. Good money and he can hold up his head now.’

  Kate thought that in many ways she too was happier than she had been for a long time, in spite of nights disturbed by air-raid warnings and fear when the raids were taking place, in addition to the irritating shortages, the blackout and the worry about Richard and John.

  Marie was working at the Meccano factory in Edge Lane, which was now on war work. At present she worked days, and she and Kate pooled resources with food, and to save fuel used one or other of their rooms, where they sat in companionable silence reading or listening to the wireless or talking together as they knitted or sewed.

  They usually managed a weekly visit to the cinema, and Kate said one day, ‘I feel almost guilty, Marie. The country’s in such a bad way and everyone worried, and I feel happier than I’ve been for years.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you be?’ Marie said. ‘It’s probably because we’re independent now, and we’re both doing our bit for the war. I feel better than I thought I would ever feel again.’ Her baby had been adopted by a couple who lived in a large house in Woolton and one day Marie had hung about the house until she saw him wheeled out in his pram.

  ‘He certainly has more than I could ever give him, Kate,’ she said sadly when she returned. ‘A big Silver Cross pram and lovely clothes. He looked happy and healthy too.’ She glanced round the bed-sitting room. ‘This would have been his home, and days with a childminder, I suppose,’ she said. ‘But I’d have given him so much love, Kate.’

  ‘It seems that those people love him too, Marie,’ Kate said gently. ‘Don’t go there too often, love. You’ll only make it worse for yourself, and if they ever find out—’

  ‘I know. I’m so grateful to you for the address. I wouldn’t risk trouble for you. Now that I’ve seen him I’ll just come to terms with it and get on with my life.’

  She kept her promise, except that on the baby’s birthday she succumbed to temptation and sent him a soft toy without any indication who it was from. Kate reflected that in some ways it had been easier for her because she knew exactly what had happened to her baby and his death had been so final.

  Kate and Marie had both become members of the WVS, but Marie had to leave when she was moved to a different part of the factory on shift work. Rose was in a different unit, and it wasn’t until the beginning of May 1941 that the sisters met up during their WVS work.

  Since June 1940 Liverpool and other parts of Merseyside had been a target for German bombers, and from September onwards the raids became more frequent. In addition to those killed and wounded, thousands were made homeless. There were few quiet evenings at home for Kate now as the WVS organised meals and bedding for people sleeping in rest centres, or took tea to the firemen and Civil Defence workers fighting the numerous fires and rescuing those trapped in blitzed buildings.

  The raids, though heavy, were comparatively scattered, so although air-raid warnings were sounded nearly every night, some districts escaped. People came wearily from shelters to prepare for work, hoping that though their district had been given a brief respite, the area that had ‘bought it’ was not one where their relatives lived.

  All that changed when during the nights from 1 to 8 May Liverpool and district was bombed continuously and ferociously. Incendiary bombs, high-explosive bombs and land mines rained down on the city as wave after wave of bombers arrived. At times it seemed as though the whole of the city was on fire. The German bombers had no difficulty in finding their targets, mainly the docks, which handled most of the country’s imports of food and goods. The small houses near the docks in Liverpool and Bootle suffered accordingly.

  Like all the Civil Defence people, the Women’s Voluntary Service was stretched to the limit, and Kate was on duty every night in the r
est centres, where she helped to comfort homeless people with tea and food and blankets. Many had been dug out from the wreckage of their homes, and some had relations killed or missing.

  Sometimes the rest centres themselves were bombed, and Kate feared for Rose when she heard that twelve WVS women had been killed at a rest centre in Bootle. But Rose was safe, and during the night of 3 May the sisters encountered one another among the chaos.

  A huge bomb had fallen on nearby Mill Road Hospital, killing or injuring patients, nurses, doctors and ambulance drivers, and everyone available rushed to help. Kate thought the scene was like something out of Dante’s Inferno, lit by exploding cars and ambulances and burning buildings. There were screams and shouts as men scrambled over the rubble to find those buried in it. Over everything there hung a thick haze of dust, and the deep, menacing throb of the engines of a fresh wave of bombers mingled with the crump of bombs and the roar of collapsing buildings across the city.

  The maternity ward had been hit, and Kate was kneeling beside a young mother who was clutching her two-day-old baby, tucking a blanket round them and wiping the woman’s face, when she saw Rose. She looked calm and efficient, moving among the chaotic scenes, organising some of the WVS women who were helping and comforting the rescued, and others who were already making tea for rescued and rescuers alike.

  She spoke sharply to a hysterical girl who was upsetting others, and the girl became quiet, although she grumbled to another WVS woman, ‘Bossy cow, isn’t she?’

  ‘Mrs Willis is just what we need here. She’s a good organiser and she gets things done,’ the woman said crisply. Kate glowed with pride, and always remembered the episode and the woman’s words.

  Firemen and Civil Defence workers came from far and wide during that dreadful eight days and nights to help with the rescue work, put out fires and clear the streets of the rubble of collapsed buildings. They did temporary repairs to houses, only to have them bombed again and streets filled with more rubble, but the clearing-up operation continued without pause so that ambulances, fire engines and lorries could get through.