When We Danced at the End of the Pier

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘So you’re going to keep quiet?’

  I nodded. ‘That’s what’s going to be best for my family.’

  ‘Then you’ve made the right decision.’

  * * *

  Everyone adored Rita. Mum was besotted by her first grandchild and Brenda couldn’t wait to get home from work every evening to see her and pick her up and spoil her. But, apart from me, no one could have loved her more than Nelson did – he couldn’t have loved her more if she had been his. This little baby was truly the apple of his eye. We had decided on her name together: Rita, after Jack’s favourite film star, Rita Hayworth.

  When Rita was a tiny baby I was still able to go to the bookshop. When the weather was fine, I would put her pram out in the yard and everyone would keep an eye on her.

  Afshid would swap the victory marches for Glen Miller and Rita would fall asleep to the gentle strains of ‘Moonlight Serenade’. But as she got bigger it became more difficult and so I had to give up my wonderful job where I had been so happy. I hated saying goodbye to everyone but I knew that I had to. It wasn’t fair on Rita, I had to be a proper mummy to her.

  ‘You will pop in sometimes, won’t you?’ pleaded Maggie.

  I felt like crying. ‘Of course I will,’ I said.

  ‘You bloody better!’ she said, hugging me.

  * * *

  Nelson was discharged from the nursing home in Hastings and he moved into See Saw Lane. At first it seemed strange to have a man in the house but as Mum and Brenda had known him almost all his life, it wasn’t like they were having to share the house with a stranger. We had become a family. OK, it wasn’t your usual kind of family but it was ours and that was all that mattered. I had thought that the only thing I could give Nelson was a home but I had given him so much more than that. I had given him Jack’s child and no child could have been more loved and no child could have had a better father. He looked so proud as he wheeled Rita along the seafront.

  Sometimes I looked at him and wondered if he was truly happy. We were loving towards each other – we held hands, we cuddled – but that was as far as it went. I knew that wasn’t enough, of course it wasn’t, but I never asked, because I didn’t want to know.

  Of course Monica had an opinion. We were down the lagoon and Rita had fallen asleep in her pushchair.

  ‘It must be killing him,’ she said.

  ‘Well, he looks happy enough.’

  ‘He might look happy but it can’t be easy for him. He’s a man and a man has his needs.’

  ‘Well, he’ll just have to have his needs, won’t he? There’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘I’m only saying,’ said Monica.

  ‘I know you are and I’m sorry I snapped, it’s just that I feel so guilty I can’t bear to think about it.’

  ‘He knew what he was letting himself in for, Maureen.’

  ‘I know, but I still feel guilty.’

  ‘You couldn’t, you know—’

  ‘No ,I flippin’ couldn’t!’

  ‘Just a thought.’

  ‘Could you make love to your Archie?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Monica, looking shocked.

  ‘Well, that’s how I feel about Nelson. It would be like making love to my brother.’

  That shut her up.

  * * *

  When Rita was eight months old, we got a letter telling us that Nelson must report for duty. I guess we both knew that it was going to happen but had always hoped that the war would have ended by the time his leg had healed.

  I didn’t want him to go; I felt safe with him around. And I knew Nelson was dreading going back. He had never talked about how it had been out there but I knew it must have been awful. This time it was going to be harder for him to go because he was leaving behind his family and that included Mum and Brenda.

  The bombings in Brighton were getting worse. There was more damage and more people were losing their lives.

  On the 12 October four planes came in low over the sea and dropped bombs on St Dunstan’s, the home for blind ex-servicemen. In the same raid, bombs fell on St Anne’s home for disabled and invalid children. Nelson was worried about us.

  ‘I want to know that you will both be safe while I’m away,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve survived so far,’ I said.

  ‘But you have a child now, Maureen, and Brighton’s not a good place to be.’

  ‘But where would I go?’

  ‘Further into the country, I suppose.’

  ‘Amongst strangers?’

  ‘It won’t be forever and I’ll feel better knowing you’re away from the bombs.’

  I told Mum about what Nelson had said.

  ‘I have to agree with him, Maureen. You have a baby to think of now and it’s not safe here.’

  ‘But what about you and Brenda?’

  ‘Don’t worry about us, it’s you and the baby that need to get away.’

  ‘But I’ll be with people that I don’t know.’

  ‘I think I might have an idea,’ she said.

  Sixty

  The day after Nelson left, Peter drove me up to London and saw Rita and I safely on board the train that would take us to Wales, where we would board the boat to Ireland. It had been hard saying goodbye to Nelson and even harder leaving my family. Aunty Marge and Uncle John had turned up with a bag of food for the journey.

  There wasn’t a dry eye as we waited by the gate for Peter to turn up in the car. As the car approached the house, Mum had kissed Rita and handed her to me.

  ‘Stay safe,’ she’d said.

  Brenda put her arms around me, her eyes full of tears.

  ‘I wish you were coming with me,’ I said, hugging her. We’d never been apart and I was going to miss her.

  ‘Me and Molly will soon be called on to do war work and we’d like to do it together. You don’t mind, do you?’ she said.

  ‘Of course I don’t, I just want you to be safe.’

  ‘I’ll write,’ she’d said. ‘You will write back, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I’d answered.

  ‘I wish I could have persuaded Mum to come with me,’ I said.

  ‘Mum will never leave her house, too many memories of Dada.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Take care, Maureen.’

  ‘I will.’

  Uncle John helped me into the car and Peter started the engine. I waved to my family until they were out of sight.

  Peter parked the car and walked me across to the platform where the train was waiting. He helped us into the carriage and lifted my case onto the rack above my head.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Maureen,’ he said, handing me an envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Mrs Bentley says it’s for emergencies.’

  I put the envelope in my pocket. ‘You are the kindest people I know,’ I said, hugging him.

  ‘Just be sure to come back to us,’ he said. ‘We’ll all miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ I said, hugging him.

  I watched him walk across the station and out of sight. Suddenly everything seemed very real. I was going to another country, leaving behind everyone I loved. I wanted to run after Peter, call him back, tell him I’d changed my mind and to please take me home, but I didn’t. I settled down in a seat by the window, holding Rita on my lap.

  Luckily she was a good baby. She slept most of the way and when she needed feeding or changing, I took her into the toilet. There was a young sailor in the carriage who kept an eye on my case. Because of the blackout there was only a very dim light on the train, which made changing Rita’s nappy difficult. It took eight hours to get there and it was midnight when we pulled into a place called Fishguard on the coast of Wales.

  Everyone started pulling cases down from the racks above our heads and piling out into the narrow corridor.

  ‘Best to wait until last,’ said the sailor. ‘Don’t worry, the ship won’t leave withou
t us.’

  He lifted my case down. ‘I’ll carry this,’ he said in a strong Irish accent. ‘You just look after the little one.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ I said.

  ‘Me mammy would never forgive me if I didn’t lend a hand to a pretty young girl like yourself.’

  I smiled – I guess this was what they called the Irish blarney.

  Once everyone had got down from the train, we left the carriage and made our way along the platform. It was pitch-black and the wind coming off the sea cut right through me. I pulled the blanket closer around Rita.

  We were soon being carried along by a crowd of people all making their way to the boat. There seemed to be hundreds of them, men and woman dragging cases and clutching the hands of children as they made their way down a long tunnel towards the quayside.

  ‘It’s always the same,’ said the sailor. ‘Like a bloody cattle market.’

  I don’t know what I would have done without his help. Rita was like a dead weight in my arms so I could never have managed the case as well.

  ‘I have to stop for a minute,’ I said, leaning against the wall of the tunnel.

  ‘Here, give her to me, I can manage both,’ said the sailor.

  I gratefully handed Rita to him. I was exhausted and suddenly wished that I had stayed at home. I was mad to have started on this journey with a small baby, what was I thinking of?

  The tunnel emptied out into a huge shed. There were lines and lines of tables and people were piling cases onto them.

  The sailor led me over to a bench that was set against the wall.

  ‘You sit there,’ he said. ‘And I’ll go through Customs.’

  I looked up at him, he had been so kind to me. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

  ‘Jack,’ he said, smiling.

  So my guardian angel was called Jack.

  ‘Thank you, Jack,’ I said.

  Rita started to stir in my arms. ‘The sailor’s name is Jack,’ I said, kissing her cold little cheek. ‘The same as your daddy’s.’

  There were so many people on the gangplank and so little light that I thought we would all fall into the sea. Terrified, I held tight to Rita. I looked behind me to make sure that Jack was still there.

  Once on board the ship things were no better. It was crowded, there were people everywhere. All the seats in the lounges were taken and people were sitting on cases in the corridors. I had to find somewhere for me and Rita to rest.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Jack. ‘I won’t be long.’

  I sank down onto the floor and waited for him to come back. Rita started to whimper; she needed changing and feeding and I felt like crying. The smell of oil and the swell of the waves were making me feel sick. I wanted my mum, I wanted Nelson. I wanted to go home.

  Just then Jack came back. He held his hand out and helped me up.

  ‘I need to feed the baby,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve sorted something,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  I followed him down some steep stairs and along a corridor that had doors leading off it. He stopped outside one of them. Then he opened the door and we were in a small cabin with a single bed against the wall.

  ‘You can stay here,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ I asked.

  ‘The chap whose cabin this is, is on the night watch. He said you are very welcome to it.’

  I sat down on the bed and lay Rita down beside me. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough,’ I said.

  ‘Just get a good night’s sleep,’ he told me and he was gone.

  I changed Rita, then lifted her onto my breast. Her little mouth closed around me and her chubby hand pressed into my skin as she sucked. Then we lay down together and slept. I knew nothing else until I was woken by a soft tapping. Jack put his head around the cabin door.

  ‘Come with me,’ he whispered.

  I looked down at Rita; she was fast asleep.

  I put my coat on and followed Jack up onto the deck. It was blowing a gale and my hair was flying around my face. I was glad that I’d left Rita tucked up warm in the little cabin.

  ‘Ireland,’ he said, pointing into the distance.

  At first I couldn’t see anything and then, as the mist started to lift, I saw the outline of land.

  ‘Welcome home,’ said Jack, putting his arm around my shoulder.

  As I stared through the mist I felt like crying, not sad tears but tears of joy. I felt as if I was indeed coming home.

  * * *

  I went back down to the cabin. Rita was awake, she grinned at me. I changed her nappy and fed her. I loved these times when she latched onto my breast and looked up at me with her beautiful blue eyes. She was such a lovely baby; I wish Jack could have seen her, he would have been so proud. After I’d fed her I wrapped her up warm in her blanket and went back up on deck.

  As the big ship sailed up the River Lee into the heart of Cork city, I grew more and more excited. People waved to us from the banks. Passengers were leaning over the railings, waving back. It felt as if the ship and everyone on it was being welcomed home.

  ‘This is Ireland,’ I whispered to Rita. ‘Where your granddaddy came from.’

  There was a great crowd of people waiting on the quayside for the boat to dock. They were waving and calling out. I knew that I was being met by my Cousin Sean, but had no idea what he looked like. I searched the faces in the crowd, looking for someone who might look vaguely familiar to me.

  Our guardian angel Jack carried my case down the gangplank while I held onto Rita.

  ‘We’ll sit on that bench over there,’ he said, ‘until the crowd clears a bit, then we’ll see who’s left.’

  We didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘Maureen O’Connell?’ said a voice.

  I looked up into the most handsome face I had ever seen in my life. ‘Sean?’ I said, standing up.

  He shook my hand and said, ‘Welcome home, Maureen.’

  ‘This is Jack,’ I said. ‘He has taken care of us. I don’t know what I would have done without him.’

  Sean shook Jack’s hand. ‘Thank you for looking after them,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m grateful.’

  ‘I’ll say goodbye then,’ said Jack. ‘And I wish you and the little one lots of luck.’

  I handed Rita to Sean and threw my arms around Jack’s neck. ‘I’ll never forget you,’ I said.

  ‘Nor me, you,’ he said. ‘Now, go and have a great life.’

  I watched him walk away. He had indeed been our guardian angel. The journey would have been so much more difficult without him. He had been a stranger to me, but I’d trusted him to look after us. I guess it had helped that his name was Jack.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ said Sean. ‘Half the town are waiting for you.’

  We boarded a bus that would take us to Youghal.

  I sat by the window and looked out at the passing villages and fields. I was amazed at how green everything was.

  ‘Now I know why they call it the Emerald Isle,’ I said.

  ‘It’s the rain,’ said Sean. ‘It never bloody stops.’

  I smiled at him. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.

  ‘It surely is,’ he said.

  Rita started to grizzle, she was hungry. ‘She needs feeding, Sean,’ I said.

  Sean took off his coat and draped it across me so that I could breastfeed my little girl.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  My cousin was a lovely boy.

  The bus took us along a coastal road. A watery sun was pushing through the clouds making the sea sparkle, reminding me of home. Rita fell asleep in my arms.

  ‘She’s a good baby,’ said Sean.

  I smiled at him, ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘We’re here,’ he said, picking up my case.

  I looked out the window as we drove into the old town.

  ‘Not far now,’ said Sean, helping me down from the bus. ‘The cottage is at the other end of the town, can you manage?’

  I felt dizzy with tiredness an
d I could still feel the motion of the boat under my feet. Rita was asleep and heavy in my arms.

  ‘Give her here,’ said Sean and he took the sleeping baby from me.

  We walked through the main street, under the arch of a tall clock tower. To my left were a series of narrow steep hills rising up from the main street, lined with cottages, and, on my right I could see glimpses of a river between the houses.

  ‘The Blackwater,’ said Sean.

  My daddy’s river, I thought.

  As we neared a row of low white cottages, people were running towards us and I was enveloped in the arms of strangers. They were crying and hugging me. Someone took Rita from Sean’s arms.

  ‘This is your family,’ he said, laughing. ‘And this,’ he said, putting his arms round a small woman wearing a black shawl, ‘is your Aunty Mary.’

  Tears were rolling down her face as she took me into her arms.

  I was almost carried into the house as more and more people poured into the tiny room, all of them wanting to meet the girl from England. Aunty Mary eased me down into a chair by the fire. She took my face in her hands. ‘You look like your daddy,’ she said, her eyes full of tears. ‘You look like Pat.’

  ‘She’s the image of him, Mary,’ said a voice from across the room.

  I looked around for Rita. Someone had put her in a basket next to the fire.

  ‘She’ll be grand there,’ said Aunty Mary. ‘Let the child sleep.’

  It was warm in the little room and my eyes were heavy with tiredness. I was desperate for sleep.

  ‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ Aunty Mary said. ‘We can talk later.’

  ‘Rita?’

  ‘I’ll take care of her.’

  I said goodbye to everyone and followed Aunty Mary up the steep little staircase.

  The room was tiny; the bed took up almost all the space. There was a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus on the wall.

  ‘Now, you get some sleep,’ she said, kissing my forehead. ‘Welcome home, Maureen, welcome home.’

  I lay on the bed and looked out of the little window, over the old slate rooftops and chimneys. I had never felt more at peace, or more welcomed. We were safe, we were being taken care of. We had crossed an ocean to the land of my father, to the town he loved and a hill that looked down on a river. I closed my eyes and slept.