Child of the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  When she went to fetch Sarah’s dinner from the oven Dolly noticed her young daughter’s colour deepen when Eddy introduced Nat.

  After hanging up her coat, Sarah placed the back of her icy fingers against Pop’s cheek. He flinched theatrically. ‘Get in with you!’ he laughed as Dolly and her youngest daughter went back into the parlour. Dolly presumed the sailors had something they wanted to talk about that wasn’t intended for ‘dainty’ female ears.

  Afterwards, they were all settling down nicely. Eddy had put some jazz music on the wireless and they were about to roll back the mat in front of the fire and have a little dance when there was another knock on the door.

  ‘Pop!’ Dolly cried when she went to answer it. ‘It’s Mr Kerrigan and he’s got a telegram!’

  Nancy fell backwards onto the armchair when Mr Kerrigan, Sid’s father, brought round the telegram that said Sid was missing in action over in France. She almost fainted and the family were worried that in her condition, the baby might be brought on. She was encouraged to lie down on the sofa and was comforted by her mother and Sarah. Mr Kerrigan looked crushed. ‘I’m sorry to bring the news to you like this, today of all days.’

  ‘Here, have a drop of this,’ Pop said, handing Mr Kerrigan a drop of brandy. ‘It’s good for shock.’

  ‘Thank you, Bert,’ said Mr Kerrigan, and he sat in a chair at the table. He looked shattered, and Nancy was inconsolable, reduced to floods of tears. ‘I read in the paper, the Prime Minister told the House that heavy fighting was in progress in Belgium. It reminded me of when we were in Arras back in 1918.’

  ‘He’ll come through it,’ said Pop with more confidence that he felt. ‘They didn’t say he was dead.’

  ‘Of course he will. Look at us: we came through the last one. It’s a nightmare …’

  ‘How’s Mrs Kerrigan taking it?’ Dolly asked, pouring tea. The news had really rocked her. How would she take it if the news had been about one of her boys? And the Kerrigans only had their Sid. It was dreadful news and Mrs Kerrigan would be devastated.

  ‘The doctor gave her something to help her sleep,’ Mr Kerrigan said.

  Dolly looked shocked. ‘When did you get the news?’ It would take a while to get a doctor out on Christmas Day.

  ‘Mrs Kerrigan didn’t want to spoil Nancy’s dinner. She said to leave it until later.’

  ‘I should have been told first!’ Nancy jumped up from the chair, unable to contain her anger and disbelief. ‘She had no right to take the telegram.’

  ‘I know, love, and I’m sorry, but when Mrs Kerrigan told the lad she was Sid’s mother he automatically gave it to her and—’

  ‘And she took it on herself to keep the news from me!’ Nancy was beside herself with fury. How dare she? ‘Well, you can tell her from me that if she thinks I’m going back to live in the parlour on my own, she can think again!’

  Dolly raised her eyes to heaven. Even in terrible times like this, you could always rely on Nancy to miss the point.

  It was weeks later when Mrs Kerrigan came round to Dolly’s to see Nancy. She did not want to rush round, she said, in case Nancy was still upset. She could not bear to see people upset. Swamped in a bottle-green coat, two sizes too big, and wearing a matching green hat, Mrs Kerrigan looked as if she was too exhausted to breathe. Instead, she sighed a lot.

  ‘Please, sit down, Mrs Kerrigan,’ said Dolly. ‘You look done in.’

  ‘I wanted to see how Nancy was doing,’ Mrs Kerrigan said in a thin, high-pitched voice. ‘We haven’t seen anything of her since … since …’

  ‘She did call round a few times but you weren’t in. Mr Kerrigan said you were at the doctor’s.’

  ‘I have to go for my nerves; they’re not good now.’ Mrs Kerrigan adopted a martyred expression and shuffled on the edge of the sofa. ‘When your boy has been killed you will know what I mean.’

  ‘Nobody said that Sid had been killed, Mrs Kerrigan.’ Dolly was shocked that this woman, who bore her air of torment like a banner, could say such a thing. ‘There is always hope. You have to believe that.’

  ‘I am a mother, Mrs Feeny, I know these things. I feel it deep in my heart … I would certainly know if my Sid were alive – I would know it.’ She sighed melodramatically.

  Her statement brooked no argument and, having two sons of her own battling in the middle of the Atlantic, Dolly gave her the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘I don’t suppose we will see you again,’ Mrs Kerrigan said to Dolly as she left the house, ‘not until the baby is born, at least.’

  ‘I’m sure Nancy will come and visit as much as she can and you are welcome to call around any time you want to.’

  ‘I’m not one for visiting.’ Mrs Kerrigan’s pained expression turned into a tortured smile. With a heavy sigh she said, ‘Maybe Mr Kerrigan will, but I don’t have the strength any more.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  April 1940

  After a bitterly cold winter, Germany turned its attention to Western Europe where, in April, it swiftly invaded Denmark and Norway. British and French counter-attacks in Norway failed to extricate the aggressors.

  However, none of this meant a thing to Nancy, who was now lying with her feet in stirrups while she pushed and screamed for all she was worth.

  ‘No wonder the baby is early with all she’s been through,’ Gloria said to Dolly, who gave a sympathetic nod, while Mrs Kerrigan sat stiffly on the chair outside the delivery room of Bootle Maternity Hospital in Balliol Road. After eighteen hours of labour, Nancy delivered an eight-pound nine-ounce baby boy, whom she called George.

  ‘I thought you would have called him Sidney,’ Mrs Kerrigan whined, ‘after his poor departed father.’

  ‘I prefer George; it is patriotic – after St George, patron saint of England,’ Nancy offered, after she and the baby were both washed, polished and decently presented.

  ‘You’ve done us proud, love,’ Dolly said to Nancy while still gazing lovingly at the pink, plump cheeks of her third grandchild. ‘Pop will be thrilled with this bonny bouncer.’

  ‘I would hate to think what size he would have been had he been full term,’ Mrs Kerrigan said, and Dolly, sensing a dig, gave a withering stare.

  ‘Don’t you want to come and have a look at him?’ Dolly asked.

  ‘I’m too emotional. He reminds me too much of my poor Sidney,’ Mrs Kerrigan replied.

  ‘I would have thought that would be a good thing,’ Dolly answered, knowing the other woman was too wrapped up in her own misery to look at the child properly. ‘I’m sure Sid will be so proud.’

  ‘He would have wanted a son to carry on his name, I’m sure.’ Mrs Kerrigan dabbed at her dry eyes.

  ‘We do not know for sure that he is dead, Mrs Kerrigan.’ Nancy, feeling highly emotional, was on the verge of tears. She would have loved her husband to be here to see his new son.

  ‘I know,’ Mrs Kerrigan said ominously. ‘Believe me, I know.’

  Kitty sat with a nice cup of tea and the paper on her lap after finishing work in the NAAFI. Opening the paper, she let out a little squeal of delight, surprised and thrilled to see Frank’s handsome face staring up at her. She gazed at the picture for a long time. He was standing to attention on the deck of an unnamed ship in blazing sunshine.

  The photograph must have been taken a long time ago, she reasoned, because he had been serving in the North Atlantic for the last seven months, to her knowledge.

  Frank was taller than most of the crew who were being inspected by Lord Louis Mountbatten. Kitty laughed softly when she remembered the perfectly magical dance they had had together on the day of his sister’s wedding. She gave a small, sad sigh, aware that at that time she imagined Frank had a soft spot for her.

  ‘Aunty Doll!’ Tommy’s voice carried from the front room to the back kitchen where Dolly was at the gas stove. ‘Come an’ ’ave a look at this. You are gonna cry your leg off.’ Dolly had offered to look after Tommy when he came out of hospital, while Kitty and Danny were at
work. The arrangement worked very well and Tommy was happier than he had been since last September.

  ‘I’m out here, Tommy,’ Dolly called. She loved looking after Tommy. Even with her part-time voluntary work with the WVS, she had plenty of time on her hands, leaving the proper war work to the younger ones. Dolly liked helping people out; it kept her busy and stopped her brooding. Having Tommy here while Kitty was at work in the NAAFI also kept him out of trouble. She had found him to be a great help, especially since Nancy had come out of hospital with young George.

  ‘Don’t touch that blackout material, Tommy, or I’ll have your guts for garters,’ Dolly called from the kitchen.

  Tommy shrugged and eyed the samples of dark material. He was feeling restless and wondered if he should go to meet Kitty from the canteen. Then he remembered she said she might be working a bit later because there was a dance on. He grimaced when a deluge of midsummer rain lashed against the windows.

  ‘That rain would go right through you!’ Aunty Dolly called in that warning kind of voice that told Tommy not to even bother thinking about going out. He would leave meeting Kitty for tonight, knowing he would only get a lecture about how sick he had been and the chance he might end up back in hospital with pneumonia.

  Picking up the evening paper, he read that German forces had pushed through the supposedly impregnable Maginot Line in Eastern France. The Allied troops, diverted to the north as another German army group swept through the Ardennes, then changed south into France. Tommy felt his excitement grow when he read that the British Expeditionary Force, who had landed in France last October, had been trapped in the narrow pocket near the Channel coast. Under heavy bombardment, a flotilla of ships and small boats had evacuated over 333,000 men from the beaches of Dunkirk. Tommy read the news and wished he were old enough to go and fight for his country. There was nothing going on around here.

  ‘Nothing has happened!’ he said. ‘We have not been invaded or anything.’ Idly he fingered the squares of material and decided that, apart from making some nifty little parachutes, the material was of no interest to him whatsoever.

  ‘What’s for tea, Aunty Doll? I’m starving.’ Tommy, like one of the family now, sauntered out to the back kitchen where Aunty Dolly ruffled his shock of thick, jet-black hair, like that of his older brothers and Kitty. Sniffing the air appreciatively, he gave her a kiss on her upturned cheek. In his hand he carried the latest edition of the Evening Echo.

  ‘You didn’t touch that material with those grubby fingers, did you, bucko?’ Dolly knew that it had taken a fair bit of bargaining to acquire the fabric. She liked haggling, and could now see why Danny Callaghan was so good at it. He had shown her how to keep a straight face to get the best deal.

  ‘What’s for tea, Aunty Doll?’ Tommy asked again. Dolly lovingly pushed the hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Remind Pop you need a haircut on Saturday. He’ll take you.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Tommy knew he was well looked after in the Feeny house and, apart from his own home with Kitty and Danny, did not want to be anywhere else ever again. ‘I hate getting my hair cut. It makes my neck all itchy, and I can’t get the hairs out of me vest.’

  ‘Well, maybe a nice bit of braising steak will take your mind off it.’ Dolly winked and gave Tommy one of her conspiratorial smiles.

  ‘Braising steak on a Monday?’ Tommy could hardly believe his ears, knowing you could not get a good piece of steak since rationing came in. Usually all that was available in the butcher’s was offal, which was not on the ration, or sausages that tasted like sawdust.

  ‘We’re having it with mashed potatoes, carrots and minted peas from Pop’s allotment. We would have had Yorkshire pudding too, but I ran out of eggs and there’s a shortage,’ Dolly said.

  Tommy let out a low whistle of appreciation and smacked his lips. ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘I know a good butcher.’ Dolly sighed. Being a local helper and doer of good deeds, she was usually ‘in the know’ when anything was going spare.

  ‘Do you think the others will be long?’ Tommy asked as the delicious smells tantalised his senses and made his stomach growl.

  ‘Pop’s only gone to stable the horses, and Sarah has an early finish at the St John Ambulance meeting because she promised to do a bit of night duty at the hospital to help out, so it shouldn’t be too long,’ Dolly said, knowing that Tommy loved nothing more than to sit down at the table and eat the hearty meals she provided. The boy’s presence reminded her of the days when her own lads were young. Dolly swallowed hard. She hoped Frank and Eddy were safe out there. Wherever ‘out there’ might be.

  ‘I know it’s one of the house rules that we wait until everybody is sitting around the table before we eat,’ said Tommy, ‘but I just wish my belly understood it too.’ Dolly laughed that easy chuckle that made him feel safe and secure. Apart from his own family, he could not think of a better place to be in the wide world than here with the Feenys.

  ‘Well, that’s my rule. Even Pop sticks by it.’

  ‘There’s no changing your mind when it’s made up, is there, Aunty Doll?’

  ‘You got that right, Tommy boy.’ Dolly ruffled his hair again before pushing a fork through the boiling potatoes and giving them a nod of approval. Tommy knew Aunty Doll, a canny woman in her fifties, thought that to provide well for her family was to show them her highest affection. Tommy had no problem returning her love. Her family, himself included, was better fed than anybody else’s around here.

  ‘I can’t see why my family should not have the very best I can lay my hands on,’ Dolly said, ‘but even so, Tommy, you will have to wait like everybody else.’

  Dolly thickened the rich gravy with a bit of cornflour. ‘There, it’ll stick to your ribs and put hairs on your chest.’

  Tommy laughed and peered under his woollen jerkin, thick plaid shirt and good vest, reporting that he couldn’t see any signs of a hairy chest just yet. ‘And I’m sure that our Sarah won’t want one either.’

  ‘Don’t be impudent,’ Dolly laughed as she put the big black kettle on the gas ring to boil.

  ‘Aunty Doll, you forgot to look at this.’ Tommy tapped the paper he had brought.

  Deep in thought, Dolly knew that if it was not for the goods she managed to buy from people less fortunate then life would be much different.

  She was glad Pop’s wages kept them reasonably well provided for. Many women, whose men had gone to war, and who had been left only a small amount of money every week, were now working in the munitions factories and were becoming more independent. She was fortunate that she did not have to do that because with the money her sons sent through the Post Office every week, along with Nancy and Sarah’s housekeeping, Dolly knew she was not doing too badly. Women, strangely enough, were proving they could do, just as well, the jobs usually done by the menfolk.

  ‘Aunty Doll, are you listening?’ Tommy asked, getting the cutlery from the drawer.

  ‘What’s that, sunshine?’ Dolly took five plates out of the cupboard. One each for her, Pop, Sarah, Nancy and Tommy. Hopefully, she thought, ignoring Tommy’s plea for attention, Frank or Eddy might get some leave soon, and they would enjoy the food she would laden their plates with.

  ‘Have you seen the paper?’ Tommy asked, tapping it with his index finger.

  ‘I’ll have a gander in a minute.’ Dolly was only half listening. The navy was doing a valiant job getting supplies through and the docks were heaving with ships on quick turnaround, with crews ready to risk their lives to supply the country with food and necessary supplies. What did annoy her, though, were the get-rich-quick spivs who were getting fat off this rationing business – and not only the spivs, Dolly noticed.

  Mrs Kennedy now had ‘select’ customers who tried to keep on very good terms. People who would never give her the time of day before the war were now paying over the odds for stuff that was hard to come by. Well, Dolly thought, cheating was not her way. What she had she shared, and what she came across by
way of a little deal here and there, she passed on to others less fortunate. Sometimes she had to add a copper here or there but not like Winnie Kennedy.

  Charlie, Dolly noted, had managed to stay out of the war up to now, but soon there would be nowhere to hide. He’d have to go and fight men real men, men unlike himself; a bully who picked on those weaker than himself.

  Dolly knew he had mistreated Rita even though her daughter never said a word. Rita would do anything to save face. Instead of crying to her family, Rita threw herself into her work at the hospital and kept her thoughts to herself. Dolly admired her stoic ways even though she would have liked Rita to confide in her.

  However, as she was not one for wearing her heart on her sleeve, Dolly was grateful that Charlie could no longer duck out of being called up for much longer.

  ‘Was that the back gate?’ Dolly asked in anticipation of her husband’s arrival.

  ‘It’s Pop,’ Tommy said, looking out of the window. ‘Maybe he will be interested in what’s in the paper.’

  ‘Hello, my love,’ Dolly said, holding up her cheek, which Pop dutifully kissed.

  ‘What’s that, Tom?’ Pop asked as he wafted in on a breeze of summer evening air. Lifting the pan lid, he took a hefty sniff of the delicious food bubbling away on the stove.

  ‘Here, Pop, have a look at this!’ Tommy said, eagerly thrusting the paper into Pop’s hands.

  ‘What am I looking at, Tom?’ Pop asked, hanging a horse harness behind the kitchen door.

  ‘Page two!’ Tommy could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Right at the top of the page, look!’ He tapped the paper while his mongrel dog scrambled up Pop’s leg.

  ‘Get down, Monty.’ He gave the stray a welcome scratch behind the ear and Monty swished his tail. Tommy had saved the little dog from being put down shortly after he’d come out of hospital. Tommy had then adopted the stray. Kitty thought having a pet of his own would help him get over the news of the death of his father.

  ‘Get that fleabag out of my clean kitchen now.’ Dolly pushed a salt-and-pepper wisp of hair from her damp forehead.