The White Empress

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked irritably.

  Marie glanced at her watch. ‘Nearly nine o’clock.’

  She picked up her sewing. ‘I suppose I’d better get on with it. At this rate she’ll have grown out of it before it’s even finished! And we could all be here for hours!’ She reached over to place the candle closer and it began to shake in her hand although she knew her hands were steady. The shrill whistling increased until its piercing stridency forced them to press their hands over their ears. Naked fear was in all their eyes.

  The whole shelter vibrated. The ground under their feet moved and cracks appeared in the concrete base. The blast threw Marie to the floor and knocked her sprawling across the bunk, the candle falling against her arm. It flickered for a second then went out. She didn’t even feel the pain of the molten wax.

  Mrs Gorry was the first to recover, scrabbling in the pitch darkness for the matches. She struck one, located a candle, then struck another to rekindle the flame. ‘Oh, my God! That was close!’

  Marie crawled to her mother’s side. ‘Where’s Dad tonight, Mum?’ her voice shook.

  Mrs Gorry didn’t answer, she just got up stiffly.

  Marie clung to her. ‘Mum, you can’t go out! You can’t!’

  ‘I . . . I wasn’t going to.’

  Marie sat down and covered her face with her hands.

  Her mother patted her shoulder. ‘Come on, luv, we can’t let it get us down! Dad’s going to be just fine, I know he is! There’s nothing we can do but sit it out!’

  Marie didn’t look up. Cat had seen Mrs Gorry’s self-control crumble, just for a few seconds, and it frightened her far more than anything else. She drew her own strength from the older woman, as Marie did, and she knew that if Mrs Gorry broke under the strain then they would all degenerate into babbling lunacy.

  Just after midnight Mr Gorry appeared like an apparition – literally – for he was covered from head to toe in plaster dust.

  ‘Can’t stay, but I just wanted to check that you were all—’

  Both Marie and her mother launched themselves at him and clung to him.

  ‘Come on, Cat!’ he laughed. ‘Give us a kiss, everyone else has!’

  She laughed, too, out of sheer relief. ‘Was it Walton Hospital?’

  ‘No, thank God! It was further down, towards Walton Vale, but I think we’ve lost most of the roof!’

  ‘Our roof?’ His wife was incredulous.

  ‘There were two or three direct hits, almost simultaneously.’

  ‘It just sounded like one big one, didn’t it girls? Do you have to go back, can’t you stay? Surely, it can’t last much longer?’

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to get back.’ He kissed them all before he left.

  An hour later the all-clear sounded and Mrs Gorry, now outwardly composed, was first out of the shelter. She stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the damage to her home. It wasn’t possible to see too clearly as it was still dark, but the chimney had gone and broken slates littered the yard and the garden.

  ‘Well, it’s no use going in until it’s light enough to see what kind of a mess we’re in, we might as well try and get some sleep,’ she stated firmly, ushering the two girls back inside the shelter.

  They heard later that the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Walton Vale – the church they all attended – had been hit and badly damaged, as had many houses in the vicinity. Their own house had come off lightly. In daylight it was clear enough to see the gaping hole in the roof, the worst damage being at the front of the house. Ignoring the layer of plaster dust, the glass and shattered crockery in the kitchen and scullery, Mrs Gorry went straight into the parlour. There was a large hole in the ceiling and a bed was swaying dangerously in the gap, weighed down by the plaster and broken lathes from the bedroom ceiling that had collapsed on to it. Glass and debris littered the room. Mr Gorry went upstairs to try to move the bed to a more stable position.

  ‘Oh, Mum, what a mess!’ Marie cried.

  ‘Just be thankful we’ve got a mess to clean up at all! Well, would you just look at that!’ Her mother reached out to touch the Waterford crystal vase that still stood in pride of place on the mantlepiece. By some miracle it had held together. It was a family heirloom, brought by her mother-in-law from Ireland and was a bone of contention between herself and her sister-in-law, Nellie. But as her fingers touched it, it crumbled into a thousand slivers. She stood staring at them. ‘Well, now there’s nothing to argue over, is there?’

  ‘At least the pianola’s not damaged, it’s only scratched a bit.’ Marie interrupted, running her fingers over keys which were a uniform grey colour.

  Her mother turned and her eyes alighted on the rolls of music. ‘Right! Sort through those rolls and anything that’s composed by anyone remotely German, put on one side. We’re going to have a bonfire!’

  ‘Oh, but Mum, they’ll be irreplaceable!’

  ‘Irreplaceable or not, they can burn and if I could get my hands on Adolf Hitler I’d put him on the top and he could bloody well burn as well!’ And with that she resolutely kicked the fragments of the vase into the empty fireplace. ‘Cat, see if you can find some shovels and brushes, then we’ll all set to and clean up! I’m not having our Nellie up here from Aintree in her fox furs to see if we’re alright and the place in this state! And if she so much as mentions that vase, she can take the bloody pieces home with her in a paper bag!’

  They had done the best they could and Mr Gorry, with the help of some neighbours, had covered the hole in the roof with tarpaulins and, to his wife’s relief, her sister-in-law did not appear. Out of the four lorries and three horse-drawn carts he had owned, Mr Gorry informed them grimly that only one lorry had been salvaged. He did not tell them that there had been tears in his eyes as he had surveyed his wrecked yard and stables, from which the charred bodies of four cart-horses had been dragged.

  ‘Perhaps we can all get a decent night’s sleep tonight. They never strike so heavily for more than two nights on the run, blast them!’ came the vituperative remark from his wife when beds had been brought down and made up in the dining room. Such was the devastation that no one had gone to work.

  ‘I’ll go down and see if Maisey’s alright. The convoy is due in today, so I’ll go and meet Joe and Eamon.’

  ‘You come back as soon as you can, especially if it’s late and it’s bound to be. They may even have been diverted after last night!’ Mrs Gorry warned.

  She hoped and prayed that it had not.

  The sights and sounds were familiar now, heart-renderingly familiar. But even so she wasn’t prepared for the sight of Eldon Street. Half of it was little more than a mountain of smouldering rubble and number eight was part of it, but her heart leaped as she heard the familiar voice calling her name from a house that was still standing. Maisey and all the O’Dwyers spilled out on to the street with cries of delight.

  ‘Maisey! Oh, Maisey!’ she cried, wiping her eyes.

  Maisey dabbed her eyes on the corner of her pinafore. ‘We ’eard you gorrit bad your end, too?’

  ‘Not nearly as bad as this!’

  ‘God knows what we’re goin’ ter do now! I ’aven’t even gorra clean pair of drawers! An’ yer should ’ear ’er! You’d think she’d lost the Crown Jewels instead of all that tatty stuff she used ter drape ’erself in! Gorrup like a Christmas tree sometimes she was! I told ’er it was dead common ter wear all that jewellery at the same time!’

  ‘That cost me milluns, our Mam, an it weren’t tatty!’ Dora flung back with some exaggeration. She had obviously not forgotten the striped taffetta dress.

  Despite herself, Cat burst out laughing. It would take more than a heavy air raid, the loss of her home and all her possessions to defeat the likes of Maisey O’Dwyer!

  The convoy hadn’t been diverted and late that afternoon she stood on the landing stage and watched them come slowly up the river. Sections of the docks still smouldered and an increasingly bigger swathe of destructio
n had been cut through the heart of the city, but the port was still working. They looked like tired, battered, old warhorses, she thought, their hulls as grey and dirty as the murky water that buoyed them up. Her eyes misted as, behind the convoy and sailing alone, she recognised the Empress of Japan. There was nothing about her now of that majestic ship that she had stood and gazed at, on this very spot, years ago. Her hull was a dirty, mottled grey. Patches of rust were visible, her rigging was damaged and only her three funnels, partly camouflaged, identified her as the former flagship. The muscles in her throat constricted as she thought of that other Empress that lay on the ocean bed, and of all the Canadian Pacific ships that had gone down. The Beaverbrea, the Montrose, the Beaverburn, the Niagara, the Beaverdale and Beaverford. Seven from a fleet of twenty-two, in one short year.

  It was nearly an hour later when she hugged them both, after fighting her way through the crowd of wives, mothers and dock workers.

  ‘Holy Mother of God! When did all this happen? How is everyone?’ Joe asked, shocked.

  ‘Last night. We’ve got a hole in the roof, Maisey’s been bombed out and the city is devastated, but we’ve all survived and we’re managing! And, as they probably won’t be back tonight, I think we’ve all got something to celebrate!’

  ‘A lot more than most, I should think.’

  ‘I promised I’d come straight back. I’ve seen Maisey and both of you, so I’d best be off now.’

  ‘I’d better go and see if Mam is alright. How about us all going for a drink tonight? You, me, Eamon and Marie?’

  ‘I don’t know about Marie, she’s been out a few times with a chap from work. I wrote to you about it.’

  ‘We got no mail, this time.’

  ‘I’ve promised to meet a few of the lads later.’ Eamon interrupted.

  ‘Then it’s just you and me, Cat. Shall I pick you up?’

  ‘No, I’ll come in on the tram. There’s no sense dragging you all the way out to Walton, just in case they do come again.’

  She had insisted he only saw her safely on to the tram, he looked so tired, he needed some rest, she urged. She’d be fine, didn’t she manage all the time he was away?

  ‘I worry about you, Cat! I worry all the time!’

  ‘Well don’t, you’ve got enough to think about . . . out there.’

  He placed his arms on her shoulders and looked down at her. He knew he had changed, there were times when he felt he would never regain that spirit of youth, that optimistic enthusiasm for life. He felt like an old man. A tired, bitter, old man. But looking down at her she looked no different from the girl he had always known, although now she was a woman of nearly twenty-six. But the love he felt for her had not diminished, it had increased.

  ‘Look after yourself, Cat—’

  ‘Oh, Joe! You know I will!’

  She placed her arms around his neck and he drew her close.

  ‘Oh, I miss you so much, Joe!’

  His lips sought hers and she responded. It was the first time he had held her and kissed her like this since . . . Oh, it was a lifetime ago! But the jealousy had gone now.

  She drew away from him and looked calmly up into his eyes, but before he could speak she placed her fingertips on his lips.

  ‘No! Not yet! Not yet!’

  ‘Cat!’ There was agony in his voice.

  ‘I know, my own dearest Joe, but what kind of future . . . how much time—?’

  ‘It’s better than nothing at all, Cat!’

  She knew he was too proud to plead, even in such uncertain circumstances. She reached up and kissed him tenderly. ‘I couldn’t bear it, Joe! I couldn’t stand to lose you! I’m not strong, it’s just an act we all put on, otherwise we’d all go out of our minds! But if . . . when . . .’

  He drew her close to him and kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Cat Cleary! It will end one day and I’ll be here! I’ve let you slip through my fingers for the last time!’

  A feeling of infinite peace surged through her. ‘I’ve been such a fool, Joe, forgive me? I was always my own worst enemy.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Cat.’

  She pressed her cheek close to his. ‘I love you, Joe Calligan. I think I’ve always loved you but I’ve been too blind, too stubborn, too proud to admit it, until now.’

  He stroked her hair. Once her words would have filled him with a fierce passion, now he felt contentment and an all-consuming tenderness for her. ‘You’ve always known I loved you, Cat, I can’t deny it, and I suffered a hell of jealously and rage when . . . well all that’s over. I may never get to be second officer but—’

  ‘Oh, Joe, living like this has made me realise that wealth and status are empty, useless things. This war has swept away everything I once thought was so important. It’s people who matter, and love and kindness and loyalty and those are the greatest gifts you have to offer and I love you for sharing them with me!’

  They stood in silence, clinging to each other, praying that the bond of love that had been forged ten years ago would not be broken by tragedy.

  His weariness had left him as he watched the tram trundle away. He’d waited so long, suffered so much, but it had been worth it. When all this was over, she would be waiting for him.

  He made his way back towards the docks. His aunt’s home was dreadfully overcrowded, as yet another group of relations had moved in. Families were doubling and trebling up as more and more homes were destroyed. He wanted some peace and quiet to think, to reflect, and there would be more chance of that back on board as most of the crew of HMS Firefly were ashore.

  He had reached the Dock Road when the sirens sounded. It was 11.10. His first thoughts were for Cat, but he realised she would be well on her way home and would be hastily sent off to the nearest shelter, as the tram was evacuated. The droning of the first wave of raiders followed almost immediately. There hadn’t been much of a warning. He began to run as the first incendiaries found their target, sending a shower of sparks into the air, he increased his pace, oblivious to the explosions around him. He kept on running. He hadn’t sweated and toiled, prayed and wept, watched the deaths of so many, many ships and men to run for cover now. Not now when they had come to destroy the precious cargoes they had nursed all the way home. He reached No. 2 Husskison Dock barely able to speak, he was so breathless. Already there were fires raging and engines hurtling in from all directions. The bastards! The bastards! He cursed to himself. He stopped and leaned against the wall of a shed to regain his breath. Ahead of him, outlined by the glare, was the Malakand. Men were working frantically at the pumps and were successfully dousing the flames over the No. 1 hatch. He jerked into action. They would need more help. The Malakand was loaded with 1,000 tons of high-explosive bombs!

  He reached the dockside and raced up the gangway, as a shower of incendiaries burst around them. Explosions rocked the entire dock and soon the cargo sheds were alight. The fire engines continued to arrive, the men playing their hoses on the sheds on the east and south sides. Dim figures that became lost in the dense smoke, only to reappear as men bent double over the hoses as they fought to contain the fires. As he raced along the deck he could feel the heat through the soles of his boots. Sweat poured down his face from the searing heat, but he set to work with the crew.

  The blaze had reached the contents of the cargo shed on the south side and the building errupted into a solid wall of flames.

  ‘It’s no use! It’s spreading!’ someone yelled.

  He turned. The flames had reached the Malakand.

  ‘She’ll go up! Get the hell out of it!’ The officer-incharge swore roundly. The fire was a blazing beacon and the raiders homed in on it. The heat and smoke were suffocating as more incendiaries fell and the bombers flew lower, so low at times that their black shapes seemed only a few feet above them.

  He began to cough and his eyes were smarting, the deck was red hot. He turned again. Above the cacophany he heard Captain Kinley give the order to ‘Abandon ship’. H
e followed the others down the gangway and to a point where the shed was least affected by the fire. The Malakand was ablaze from stem to stern.

  The fire officer in charge, Mr Lappin, shouted for them to help his own men, and grappling with a hose, beside two other men, he fought to quell the inferno. His arms and shoulders ached. The enemy aircraft droned overhead unheeded. It was useless, the blazing wall of cargo sheds made it impossible to get near enough to try to train the hoses on the ship.

  Across his path of vision he saw a blurred figure running along the side of the shed. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. In this hell of heat, smoke and flames it was impossible to recognise any individual. But as the figure ran towards them a face flashed into his mind. Eamon! He heard the others curse him as he began to run. The roaring and rushing of the flames drowned out his warning cries. He looked up and launched himself bodily across the few feet that separated them. They collided, falling on the wet cobbles, rolling over and over with the momentum of the impact. There was a groaning, splintering sound as the roof of the shed collapsed. They were both soaking wet, the cold water drenching them, as a fire hose was played on them, extinguishing their burning uniforms.

  He dragged himself to his knees. Eamon lay sprawled on the floor. Shaking his head to try to clear his vision, he tried to pull him upright. His strength seemed to have drained from him. His arms felt like lumps of lead, his legs were unsteady. Somehow he half-pulled, half-dragged the unconscious lad backwards until he felt hands reach out for them both and he was borne bodily away. The last thing he remembered was a blinding flash of white light and a roaring in his ears so loud he thought his brain was bursting through his skull. The Malakand had exploded.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  COMPARED WITH THE FLOOD of casualties around them, their injuries were superficial and they both became voluntary stretcher-bearers. A heavy bomb had fallen in the back courtyard of Mill Road Infirmary, demolishing three hospital buildings, damaging the rest and many surrounding houses. The resulting carnage was appalling and patients were transferred to hospitals that were already overcrowded.