by Annie Groves
‘Look at the cut of you!’ Kitty said, pushing him into the house. She lifted his grubby hands and inspected the dirt under his fingernails. ‘You could grow spuds in those. Have they seen soap and water this morning?’
‘You’re soap mad. Which question shall I answer first?’ Tommy eyed the bowl of soup and the plate stacked high with bread. His stomach grumbled hungrily.
‘I will have none of your lip, bucko,’ Kitty said. ‘Did you get the gas mantle I sent you for?’ Tommy suddenly remembered the errand to the chandler’s.
‘Well, I saw Ginger Dempsey. He thought he saw a German hiding in the coal yard,’ Tommy answered, his mind working quickly in the hope of keeping out of trouble, ‘so I went over to tell Mr Kennedy in case he had a gun, ’cos he wears a suit for work and all men who wear a suit carry a gun …’ After he’d decorated the windows with sticky tape he had seen a film at the pictures and he really did not want to get to the part where he told Kitty he had forgotten all about the gas mantle.
‘So, what time’s the war coming to Empire Street, Mister Know-All? ’ Kitty asked while Danny, sitting at the kitchen table, was studying his horses from the morning paper and struggling to keep a straight face.
‘What war?’ Tommy was wide-eyed now. ‘When did the war start?’
‘About two minutes from now, if you haven’t got that mantle!’ Kitty stood over him, hands on her hips. Tommy knew he had to be very careful when she was in this mood. She thought nothing of slave driving, and he had already scrubbed the back yard down once this week.
‘It was like this, Kit,’ Tommy began. ‘I was walking down to Ginger’s house and he said that all the teachers were coming back from evacuation and the school was opening again …’
‘You told me that already.’ Kitty waited; any minute now he was going to tell the truth.
‘Well,’ Tommy said, getting into his stride, ‘I said to Ginger, “What if the school opens when we are in the chandler’s?” and he said—’
‘Never mind all that.’ Kitty sighed impatiently.
‘Just get to the bit where you forgot to get the gas mantle, then Kitty can give you a good telling-off, and I can pick me horses in peace.’ Danny did not raise his eyes from the paper.
‘But, Kit, I thought we were getting invaded, like they said on the news.’
‘Well, you thought wrong,’ Kitty answered with determination. ‘I won’t have you turning into a hooligan!’
Tommy eyed the soup and bread, hoping this would not take long or that she did not send him back for the mantle before his dinner.
‘Right, we’ve got things to talk about.’ Kitty dragged the chair out from under the table and her determined eyes silently invited Tommy to do the same. He sighed, relieved.
‘Can we talk while we eat, Kit, ’cos I’m starving.’ Tommy eyed the dwindling bread as Danny tucked in. His bowl of homemade oxtail soup smelled so delicious it was making his mouth water. Kitty took her place at the table, pouring tea into the cups.
‘I’m sorry, Kit.’ Tommy did look genuinely contrite. However, Kitty knew he had the repentant expression down to a fine art.
‘We’ve got to sort out what we are going to do with you. Me and Dan have war work to do and we can’t keep an eye on you as well – it’s not safe.’
‘You don’t have to do anything with me,’ Tommy said. ‘If anything happens to you lot it’s got to happen to me too.’ He looked so determined.
‘You can’t stay here!’ Kitty’s heart raced and she took a huge exasperated gasp of air. ‘It won’t be safe.’ Bootle docks would certainly be one of Hitler’s main targets.
‘If the Great War was anything to go by,’ said Danny, ‘Hitler will try and starve the country into submission and our Tommy can’t go without his grub … And look at all the timber yards along the dock road,’ he pointed out. He worked on Canada Dock, which brought in the biggest shiploads of timber. ‘The London, Midland and Scottish Railway have got a depot near the hospital, with sidings to the Alexandra Dock branch line and goods station, not to mention the Brocklebank Dock and the North Carrier Dock … We’re surrounded.’
‘We’ll be a prime target.’ Kitty tried to make her young brother see that he would be in danger if he stayed here.
‘I’m not going and you can’t make me.’ Tommy was defiant and determined, but he did not reckon on Danny.
‘She might not,’ Danny looked up from his paper, ‘but I will.’
Tommy said nothing.
‘It’s for your own good, Tommy,’ Kitty said in a more persuasive tone. ‘We live too near the docks for you to be safe.’
‘And what about you?’ Tommy asked. He was nine years old and to him everything was black and white; there were no grey areas. ‘Will bombs and bullets miss you ’cos you’re bigger than me?’
‘Don’t be daft, Tom.’ Danny tried to reason with him. ‘Liverpool is the most important western port in the country – it’s bound to be attacked.’ He stared out of the kitchen window and down the yard now. ‘We won’t be able to look after you all the time.’
‘I can mind meself,’ Tommy, with tears in his eyes, said stubbornly.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Kitty said. Looking at him now, his eyes full of tears, she wanted to go over and hug him until he popped. However, she daren’t; she would weaken and then he would have won – again.
‘Can I go to Freshfield with Michael and Megan?’ Tommy asked later, as Kitty filled a clean pillowcase with every stitch he possessed, which was not much. A couple of shirts, a threadbare, sleeveless gansey, a pair of grey, knee-length woollen trousers and not much more.
‘No, they’re settled with a farmer. You’d scare the life out of a rampaging bull, you would.’ Kitty had to keep her tone firm. ‘Miss Taylor, who lives with her widowed aunt in number six, has a sister who lives in Southport,’ Kitty said coaxingly. ‘She has two lovely little boys about the same age as you and it’s all arranged. Pop said he’ll take you to Southport in his horse-drawn cart. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Tommy?’ Please say you will like it.
‘Do I have to go? There’s been no invasion. No bombs – nothing.’
‘Nor might there be, Tom, and if there isn’t I’ll bring you back.’
‘When?’ Tommy asked, and Kitty felt her heart sink. She had hoped he would like the idea of living by the seaside; he’d loved it when they went last year. Then her thoughts drifted to the times when he felt ill and his throat was bad. Would a foster mother know how to cope? Of course she would if she had two young boys. Kitty’s mind was a torment to her now.
‘I’ll come and see you every weekend and you can tell me all about the great time you’ll be having,’ she said enthusiastically, trying to drum up a smile from her little brother. ‘And we can go for picnics and watch the boats on the water.’
‘Can I have a boat for Christmas?’ Tommy asked unexpectedly, and she knew he was trying it on now. Kitty nodded. She would save up and buy him the best boat in the toyshop. Tommy smiled and began to come around to the idea of living by the seaside. ‘Can I have a pocket knife too for foraging in the pine woods?’
‘Don’t push it, Tommy …’ Kitty smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can manage.’ She sighed with relief. She would miss Tommy but the doctor had said the sea air would be better for him than the smoky air around the docks so she was doing her best for him. She was not fobbing him off on somebody else. Anyway, if the war stayed like this and there were no raids by Christmas he might as well come back home. Until then, the fresh air might do him some good.
Pop clicked his tongue to start the horses moving and Tommy, sitting beside him, scowled and lifted the corner of his lip. He rolled his eyes again, as if he was embarrassed at his sister’s obvious display of sensitivity. However, as the cart slowly pulled away from the kerb, Kitty’s smile disappeared. To her surprise and utter heartbreak, before they left the street Tommy turned and shouted, ‘See you soon, Kit!’
Kitty would miss Tommy, and she would
worry about him every day. Perched up on Pop Feeny’s cart, he looked so small and she knew he was more scared than he let on. He had never been anywhere before, not even camping with the rest of the class, because she had not had the money to give him.
‘You’ll love it, it’s like a holiday,’ Kitty called. ‘Write to me with the address.’ Tommy put his hand behind his ear and made out he could not hear what she was saying, but Kitty knew he understood perfectly, and she laughed. She was glad he had not made a big fuss about the sore throat he had last night and was surprised he did not mention it this morning.
‘Have you got your sweets?’ she called and he nodded. ‘Have you got your comics?’ Tommy nodded again and rolled his eyes. Stop being silly! Do not let him see you downhearted. Keep your chin up, girl.
He tilted his chin up with his forefinger before waving vigorously. Yet before they turned the corner Kitty saw the tears streaming down Tommy’s little face and it tore at her heart. His over-bright words and sad eyes had been a big cover for the heartbreak he must have been feeling all week and it took every ounce of willpower Kitty had not to run down the street and bring him back.
However, she couldn’t. She intended to find war work to do. Danny had his own work on the docks, and who knew what else he was up to, but she didn’t dare ask, feeling it was better not to know. Somehow she had to get this family on the straight and narrow and she had to do it quick!
Dolly had offered to look after Tommy while Kitty worked, but the doctor had recommended evacuation for the good of his health as well as for safety’s sake. Kitty thought she was doing the right thing. But was she?
‘See you soon, Tom,’ she whispered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
November 1939
The dark nights had long drawn in and there was a powerful, bitter wind blowing in off the River Mersey as Danny Callaghan stepped out of the warm, smoky confines of the Sailor’s Rest. His unsteady footsteps, meandering up Empire Street, were not helped by the blacked-out gaslights, or the torrential rain that started as soon as the saloon doors closed behind him. Pulling his jacket collar up, Danny stumbled towards the edge of the pavement and by some pull of magnetic force he veered back towards the houses.
‘Not fit to fight for King and country,’ he muttered, thumping his chest with a clenched fist. ‘What do they know …? Idiots, the lot of them!’ Danny’s head was bent low to protect him from the blinding rain and, with his cap pulled down over his eyes, it would be almost impossible to see even if there wasn’t a blackout. His chin almost touched his chest and, huddled down inside the thin jacket that offered little protection against the onslaught, Danny drove his hands deep into his threadbare pockets as he lurched and staggered up the street. The sun would never shine for him again, he knew for sure.
His lifelong dreams had crumbled to nothing after he applied to join the army, only to be told by their doctors exactly the same as the navy medic had said. They might as well have said, ‘You are surplus to necessity … Not worthy.’
‘What is the point?’ Danny said aloud to the street, which, as far as he could make out, was deserted. ‘Why don’t you just finish the job, give me pneumonia and kill me now?’ he added to the black sky.
Sarah Feeny was hurrying to put the milk bottles out on the step and praying there would not be an air raid tonight in this weather. She shivered, terrified of what her brothers might be going through at sea on a night like this. News reached civilians via injured naval personnel and was coming in on an almost daily basis. U-boat and surface ship-laid mines continued to inflict heavy losses on merchant ships and warships alike. Only last week the minelayer Adventure and destroyer Blanche were mined in the Thames Estuary. Blanche was a total loss, said Cyril Arden, who had been reliably informed by a returning sailor.
Sarah thanked the Lord every chance she got that her brothers’ names were not among the serious casualties, and she knew her parents were worried sick even though they tried to carry on as normal. They were going through something called ‘the Phoney War’, the papers said, because Germany was preoccupied with focusing their efforts on Poland. There were signs everywhere, however, that the country would be fully prepared for all-out war when necessary.
Ration books were distributed, identity cards had already gone out and Britain was now being called ‘the Home Front’. On her way home from the St John Ambulance meeting tonight Sarah had slipped into St Mary’s and lighted a candle for both her brothers.
She was keen to be inside to shut out the foul night when she heard rather than saw a man coming up the street, and he did not sound at all happy.
‘Who’d have thought it? Danny Callaghan’s got a heart … And it is a big heart … Too bloomin’ big!’ Sarah heard the belligerent tone but could not make out the words immediately.
‘Danny?’ she said in an exaggerated whisper loud enough for him to hear.
‘Is that you, Sar …?’ Danny whispered back. Then: ‘A big heart …’ His voice rose again above the icy deluge bouncing on the hard ground. ‘A heart big enough to survive a life well lived in the rough, tough streets of Bootle. But no heart to fight for my country!’
Not one to cause trouble, but not one to back down when it approached him either, Danny sounded as if he was defeated now. Sarah could hear the unsteady rhythm of his feet along the wet pavement and see him swaying towards her.
‘Who’d have thought it?’ Danny’s voice, although low, seemed to fill the blacked-out street. ‘Danny Callaghan, frightened of no man – or woman.’ He laughed softly to himself and shook his head as if he could hardly believe it. ‘Except our Kitty …’
‘What’s wrong, Dan?’ Sarah whispered into the darkness.
‘The country is at war but you won’t see me proudly carrying my kitbag up the street.’ Danny’s voice was full of regret.
‘You have to get used to the idea of doing something else, Danny,’ Sarah said softly.
‘What else is there to do, Sarah? Everyone will think I’m a coward if I don’t join up, but if they find out the truth, they’ll say I’m an invalid. Good for nothing that Danny Callaghan, they’ll say. We knew he’d never amount to anything.’
‘Oh, Danny, of course you will,’ Sarah said. ‘You just need to find the right thing.’
‘The right thing? What’s that when it’s at home? No point in staying on the straight and narrow now, Sarah. No one cares about me, so why should I care about meself?’
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Danny!’ said Sarah sharply. ‘There’s loads of people worse off than you, you know.’
Danny stood still. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘That’s something else real men don’t do isn’t it – cry into their beer?’
‘That’s not what I meant …’
‘I know, Sarah,’ said Danny. ‘It’s not your fault, kid.’ Danny’s words were slurred and he tapped his nose. ‘Best be off. Our Kitty will have the bobbies out looking for me, I haven’t been in for me tea yet.’ He staggered off.
Sarah, sadly shaking her head, wrapped her cardigan more closely around her slim body. With sleeves pulled securely around her clenched hands she hunched up to the doorframe, shivering, but reluctant to move in case Danny fell and needed her help. Poor Danny, she thought, one of the bravest boys she had ever known, denied the chance of glory for the sake of a weak heart.
Rita missed the sound of her children’s voices terribly. She missed the feel of their little arms around her. She yearned for the trips to the farmhouse in the Freshfield countryside from the moment she left Michael and Megan until the moment they were running towards her, arms open wide. She was not allowed frequent visits because their foster mother said they were too upset after she left them.
Rita wondered how much longer it would be before this place was filled with the sound of children’s voices once more. The day war broke out they expected to be invaded immediately, but they had not been. Some children were being brought back home before Christmas.
Charlie absolutel
y forbade Rita to bring the children home, telling her that the Germans were lulling them into a false sense of security. Rita did not know what to believe, but Charlie refused to discuss making any arrangements for Michael and Megan to return home.
‘What are we having for lunch?’ Mrs Kennedy asked from her chair near the blazing fire, where she had sat all morning, complaining that her leg was playing up and giving herself a mottled, corned beef-coloured rash from sitting too close to the flames. If she sat any closer, Rita thought, she would cook.
‘I’ll just finish this.’ Rita was aware of the indignant tut behind her because she did not jump up and do Mrs Kennedy’s bidding straight away. Vigorously, she circled the sideboard door with her Mansion Polish-covered cloth and smiled to herself.
‘Do you have to do it now?’ Mrs Kennedy’s whining contributed to the increasingly oppressive atmosphere. ‘I used to have my housework done first thing in the morning,’ Mrs Kennedy’s voice was thick with censure, ‘when I was able.’
One day that halo will fall down and choke you, Mrs Kennedy.
‘Was that the letterbox?’ Mrs Kennedy said from her armchair, although she made no move to get up. Rita had heard the sound too and hurried outside to the vestibule between the sitting room and the shop. Her heart leaped when she saw the official-looking envelope with her name on it sitting on the coir matting.
Ripping the letter open, she could feel the thrum of her heartbeat in her throat as her eyes quickly zigzagged the lines of words. She tried to contain the small gasp of joy. Her name had been added to the list of the Civil Nursing Reserve weeks ago, after her successful interview, and now here was the date on which she must report to the matron of the local hospital.