Child of the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  ‘Don’t go thinking that you’re cleaning those harnesses on my best damask tablecloth that our Eddy brought home from his last trip, because you’re not.’ She was proud of the fact that she owned a damask tablecloth. Some folk could not run to a tablecloth; for them it was oilcloth or newspaper. She was a very lucky woman.

  ‘Aunty Doll, let Pop read the paper,’ Tommy cried as Pop brought Dolly’s attention to a box of fresh eggs laid only that morning.

  ‘Kitty said these might be on the turn but was sure you could find a use for them,’ Pop said, putting them on the table with a wink of his eye.

  ‘Fair dos,’ Dolly smiled, taking the plates to the table, which Tommy had set. ‘I can make some of those nice cakes they like in the canteen.’

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Dolly,’ Pop said in an unusually serious tone.

  ‘Fair exchange is no robbery,’ Dolly said, putting a plate on the table in front of each chair. ‘I get fresh eggs and make nice cakes for the serving men and save a few for us! What harm can I do?’ Her surprised-looking eyes were wide. ‘I can sell those eggs much cheaper than Winnie Kennedy.’ She looked at the clock and sighed. ‘I hope our Sarah isn’t too much longer. I could eat a horse between two mattresses.’ Dolly closed that subject, and gave a coquettish giggle when her husband’s huge arms circled her ample waist.

  ‘Ahem!’ Tommy said. ‘I am still here, you know, waiting to talk about the newspaper article.’

  Dolly disentangled herself and continued with the tea.

  ‘So, what’s all the fuss about, Tommy boy?’ Pop asked, taking his place at the table.

  Nancy came down to join them, carrying George in his carrycot, which she parked next to her chair so she could coo over her beautiful baby. Mother and son were totally besotted with each other.

  ‘Wait till you see what’s on page two.’ Tommy handed Pop the paper and waited for the bomb to drop.

  ‘OK, let’s have a gander.’ Pop ceremoniously opened and straightened the evening paper. His exaggerated expression suddenly changed to one of amazement! His good eye grew wide.

  ‘Dolly! Come and have a look at this!’ Dolly, who had disappeared, hot and bothered, to the back kitchen came bustling in with a dish of braised steak, which she put down in the middle of the table.

  ‘Throw your peepers around that, old girl,’ Pop said with a broad smile.

  Dolly took the paper whilst Tommy picked up a spoon, but resisted helping himself to a big slurp. ‘I’m watching you,’ Dolly warned him with mock severity and Tommy dropped the spoon.

  ‘Now, Doll,’ Pop said cautiously, ‘do not have a cat when you see …’

  ‘Well, I’ll be a dancer on a dustcart!’ Dolly’s blue eyes widened, making her spectacles slip as she scanned the local paper. From the top of the page, a large photograph of her handsome elder son, Frank, smiled up at her. Flushed with pride and emotion, Dolly stared transfixed at the beloved face she had not seen since Nancy’s wedding.

  ‘It’s my Frank,’ she whispered, dragging her gaze from the page and staring around the room in wonderment. ‘Tommy, why didn’t you tell me?’

  Tommy’s eyes rolled in the direction of the ceiling as Nancy crowded round to see as well. The evening meal forgotten now, Dolly looked to her husband.

  ‘I’ll have to go and show Kitty when she’s back from the NAAFI!’

  Dolly spent a long time reading and rereading the article.

  ‘It says here,’ her voice cracked with emotion as she read the words, ‘our Frank is light-middleweight boxing champion of his unit.’ Her eyes grew wide.

  ‘I know.’ Pop pushed out his proud chest, and his rugged, handsome face held an unabashed grin. ‘My lad,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘Well,’ Dolly said through pursed lips, her voice stronger now, ‘you just wait until “your” lad gets home – I’ll have his guts for garters!’

  ‘You don’t mean that, Doll,’ Pop said as he regarded his indignant wife.

  ‘I most certainly do,’ she cried. ‘I’ll have no son of mine boxing like a common ruffian.’

  ‘Dolly,’ Pop roared with laughter, ‘it’s a highly respectable sport – honourable, even.’

  ‘Then you can take your honourable sport and shove it in a cupboard.’ Her voice softened slightly as she stared back at her bemused husband. ‘Our Frank could get hurt.’

  Pop rolled his eyes heavenwards. How could he possibly tell her what he had learned now?

  His elder son had been part of the convoy escorting merchant ships through dangerous Atlantic waters. The letter had arrived when Pop was on his way out of the door this morning. He had managed to get it just before the postwoman put it through the letter box. The news wasn’t good. Frank had been injured and was being transferred home.

  ‘He hasn’t been playing tiddlywinks in the Atlantic, you know. He’s been dodging U-boats.’ Pop omitted to add, ‘And trying to dodge death too.’ His voice was unusually stern and Dolly looked at him with puckered brows.

  ‘All I know is that I sent a good lad out into the world and I want him back safe and sound.’ If Pop could have bitten back his words, he would. Dolly’s nerves must be in shreds. She was not stupid. She knew what was going on … Better than most, he imagined.

  Pop patted his wife’s hand, knowing how fiercely proud she was of her offspring – all of them. He also knew she might drop the steel façade in front of the rest of the family if she found out that her son was injured. So he decided to keep the news to himself until he knew what was going on. There was no use having his Dolly going to pieces when there might be no need.

  He could only hope and pray now.

  ‘The women of the WVS knitted gloves and balaclavas to send out to our boys,’ Dolly said. ‘But I haven’t got a clue how they’ll get to them in the middle of the ocean.’

  ‘They have got a special postman,’ Pop said, watching every move of his wife’s hand as she filled the plates, and making Tommy smile. Then, as she slowly poured gravy over the meat, potatoes and vegetables, Pop said, ‘My stomach thinks me throat’s been cut, I’m that hungry.’

  ‘Eddy and Frank must miss this, Aunty Doll,’ Tommy said as Dolly gave him his plate.

  ‘Cooking is her way of coping, son,’ Pop whispered. ‘Best leave her to it.’

  ‘I know you all think I’m daft as a brush,’ Dolly sniffed into a hankie she retrieved from the sleeve of her cardigan, ‘but I can’t stand the thought of my boys being cold in all that water.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m sure they could have arranged to stay nearer to Liverpool.’ Dolly tucked the hankie up her sleeve and spread best butter onto fresh bread. Nancy reached over to pat her arm.

  ‘They could have done the Mersey ferry run across to Seacombe,’ Pop said drily, knowing that if Dolly could have wangled it for her sons to be close to home she would have been the first to try. ‘But then, they would not have been sailors doing the job they love, would they, Doll?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Dolly conceded, and began to cut the meat on her plate.

  ‘That’s right, tuck in, you’ll feel better,’ Nancy said.

  The back door opened and Sarah came into the kitchen.

  ‘Ahh, come on in, love. I’ve just served up.’ Dolly beamed at her daughter, accepting a kiss on her dimpled cheek.

  ‘Wait till you see the paper, Sarah,’ Tommy said through a mouthful of food.

  ‘Yes, love, come and see the paper,’ Pop said, glad to keep his mind on happy thoughts.

  ‘I know it might sound unpatriotic and I shouldn’t say it, but I wish our Frank had never gone to sea.’ Dolly passed the paper to Sarah. ‘Do you think he’ll be OK, Pop?’

  ‘He’s a strong lad, Doll,’ Pop answered with more conviction than he felt, knowing that his Dolly might come across as being made of the same stuff as the air raid shelters, but he knew better.

  ‘Oh, Mam,’ Sarah sniffed appreciatively, ‘something smells lovely.’ Sarah pulled off her
gloves with her teeth and shoved the slumbering dog away from the fire. ‘Move your bum, Monty, you mangy fleabag. It might be spring but it is not warm yet.’

  ‘Don’t say “bum”, Sarah,’ Dolly said. ‘It’s not very ladylike and it is certainly not the type of language a girl who resembles Princess Elizabeth should use.’

  ‘Don’t encourage her, Doll, she thinks she’s royalty as it is.’ Pop smiled as he offered the paper to his daughter, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Turn the page, Sarah, and see who’s on page two.’

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘It’s our Frank, and he’s won a boxing competition!

  ‘It says here …’ Sarah announced in her best King’s English, ‘Petty Officer Francis Valentino Feeny—’

  ‘Valentino?’ Tommy squeaked, his eyes wide in amusement. ‘You’d have to be able to handle yourself round ’ere with a name like that. Who gave him that soppy handle?’

  ‘Aunty Doll.’ Pop’s face showed a pained expression.

  ‘… is seen here being given the Captain’s Cup for boxing …’ Even though everybody knew what the article said they listened again.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Sarah,’ Pop said, trying to keep the mood light, ‘you could read the news on the wireless with a voice like that.’

  Sarah beamed, taking her seat. Nancy, laughing, pulled a snooty face, her nose in the air.

  Tommy grinned. He knew Pop would not have a sombre mood at his table. He said it was bad for the digestion.

  Pop decided not to tell Dolly their son was being transferred to Bootle Infirmary in a military ambulance. She would only worry.

  ‘Nice picture.’ Pop gave Dolly’s hand a little pat.

  Just as she was about to speak again there was another knock. ‘It’s like Lime Street Station here tonight,’ Dolly laughed. Moments later she came back into the kitchen and her face was grim. She said to Nancy, ‘It’s the telegraph boy for you.’

  Pop followed his daughter to the front door and he watched hardly daring to breathe as she opened the telegram. Nancy’s eyes flew across the paper, taking in every word.

  ‘He’s alive, Dad!’ she screamed. ‘Sid’s alive! He was at Dunkirk.’

  ‘He’s been made a prisoner of war,’ Pop told Dolly, who was hugging her crying daughter.

  ‘Oh, love, what a relief!’ Whatever would Mrs Kerrigan do for an encore after this?

  ‘Mam,’ Nancy said, pulling away from her mother now, ‘there’s your third piece of good news today.’ They all laughed. Even Pop managed a taut smile as he subconsciously touched the official letter in his pocket.

  ‘I hope that the next piece of news will make them all just as happy.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Kitty was taking an order over to the hospital when, just ahead of her there was a bit of a rumpus. A navy-blue military ambulance had arrived, full of uniformed servicemen who were being transferred to the hospital.

  It was nothing new to see uniformed men around the dock road now. However, the evident urgency of this situation brought a moment of distraction. Kitty stood to one side, allowing the sailors to wheel the stretcher and wheelchairs inside the hospital. She was bringing over some meat pies left from this morning. They would not go to waste at the hospital.

  ‘Kitty, is that you?’ A weak voice beneath the blankets made her turn and she walked over to take a closer look while the medics went to the frosted window to give details.

  Kitty recognised the familiar voice at once even if it was only just above a whisper.

  ‘Frank?’ It could not be! Peering over the heavy blankets, Kitty gasped in surprise. He was a lot thinner than the last time she had seen him, at Nancy’s wedding, when he had danced her down the street and whispered in her hair. Was that really ten months ago? It felt like a lifetime! His dazzling, cerulean eyes stood out against the golden glow of his skin and his cheekbones were more prominent than they once were. Nevertheless, he was still the same handsome Frank Feeny she had known all of her life.

  ‘Hello, Frank,’ Kitty said almost shyly. Time stood still for a moment as they stared at each other and a wonderful smile hovered around his beautiful lips. Kitty’s heart raced so fast she could feel it in her throat.

  ‘Mind your backs, please.’ A man dressed in Royal Navy uniform broke the spell as Kitty hastily pulled herself together.

  ‘What brings you here?’ she asked, wondering if Pop knew his son was home.

  ‘Can’t tell you, I’m afraid,’ Frank answered weakly, and suddenly reached for her hand in his usual friendly manner. Kitty unconsciously pulled away when the medic gave her a stern look, and she moved back from the stretcher thinking she had done something wrong. Frank’s eyes were like buttonholes; he could hardly keep them open. Then he said with a thin smile, ‘It’s OK, I’m not contagious.’

  Kitty wasn’t sure what ‘contagious’ meant, knowing only that at this moment she felt an awkward elation at seeing Frank Feeny again.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t write,’ she said.

  ‘It’s all right, Kit. You’re a sight for sore eyes.’ Frank smiled weakly, still struggling to keep his eyes open and she wanted to ask how he was here, in Bootle Infirmary. Frank caught the sleeve of Kitty’s coat and Kitty bent down to hear him better. His voice was very weak. As she looked closer, Kitty could now see that Frank was very ill. His skin had taken on a sallow hue, in contrast to his usual ruddy rude health. There was a slick of sweat on his brow and she could see he was finding it hard to focus on her.

  ‘Kitty, will you do me a favour?’ Frank’s woozy voice caused Kitty to lose the power of speech and she merely nodded. ‘You won’t tell anybody I’m here, will you?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to, Frank,’ she said quietly, her heart breaking for him. What had he been through, she wondered, and what if he didn’t make it? What horrors had he seen? ‘Don’t you even want Pop to know?’

  ‘Someone will be in touch with him.’ Frank was fighting to stay conscious now. ‘We’ll also keep Mam out of it for now.’ His smile, though frail, was still there lighting up his adorable blue eyes. His gaze never left her face, making Kitty feel an overpowering wave of emotion that later she would recognise as love. She turned to see the naval orderlies handing over responsibility for Frank to the waiting doctor.

  ‘We’ll take over from here,’ the doctor said.

  ‘Don’t forget me, Kit,’ Frank called out.

  Kitty said a silent prayer for him. She could not bear it if anything happened to him. Suddenly her throat tightened as tears stung her eyes. Reports on the wireless said the war in the Atlantic was raging and the U-boat menace was a real problem.

  Please stay safe, Frank, she silently prayed. Please get better soon. However, not too soon, she thought, knowing that while he was only a short distance from the NAAFI she could come and see him any time.

  The family had all gone off to do their own things. Nancy and Sarah were listening to the BBC Home Service on the radio, on which Gracie Fields was belting out a rousing rendition of ‘Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye’; Sarah and Nancy were singing along lustily, baby George seemingly oblivious to the din. Tommy was out in the back yard, playing with his scruff of a dog. Dolly was tidying up the last of the dinner things and Pop headed into the kitchen to give her a hand.

  ‘Lovely dinner, Dolly. You’ve done us proud as always.’

  ‘Nothing I like better than cooking for my brood. If I could, Pop, I’d cook us out of this war.’

  Pop picked up a tea towel and started to dry things and put them away. ‘I know you would, Dolly. We’d all like to try and find a way out of this war without folk being sent away to fight. Decent boys like our Eddy … and Frank.’

  ‘It isn’t right, Pop. All of those young lads. Some of them have never even had a twenty bob note to blow in their pockets on a Saturday night. Why do they have to send them away?’

  ‘You know why, Doll. It isn’t old duffers like me that are up to facing down Hitler and his bull
y boys. We need strong young men and plenty of them if we’re to win this war. It’ll be hard and it will get harder still.’ He hesitated. ‘We’ll all have to face up to some bad news.’

  Something in his voice caused Dolly to look up from her scrubbing of the draining board. ‘What is it, Pop?’ Seeing Pop’s face, always smiling and with a twinkle in his eye, suddenly so serious, the colour drained from her face.

  Pop came over to Dolly and put his arms around her. ‘I need you to be brave, Dolly.’

  ‘Oh, Pop, it isn’t …’

  ‘No, Dolly, it isn’t the worst. But our Frank has been injured, his ship attacked by U-boats. He has been transferred to Bootle Infirmary and they are operating. He could be there now.’

  A hundred different emotions seemed to cross Dolly’s face as she took in the news. How could this be? Surely not one of her boys? Frank’s life could be hanging by a thread.

  Pop searched her face and could feel her whole body trembling underneath his arms. How would she take the news? He knew that Dolly buried herself in other things because she was terrified that reality would come calling and shatter her perfect view of the world. Everyone was good, neighbours could rely on each other, families stuck together and if you loved your kids hard enough, nothing bad would ever happen to them – if this cosy picture was shattered, he worried for her state of mind. Could she cope?

  Dolly leaned into him, but didn’t make a sound. If she had burst into tears he could have understood it more, but he didn’t know what to make of her silence. For a few moments they stood together like that, the strains of Gracie Fields filtering into the kitchen from the parlour.

  Dolly stirred and raised her head, looking her husband in the eye. Pop could see tears there, but also a look of determination and strength, the very things that he had been hoping for.

  ‘If one of my sons is ill and in hospital, then he’ll need his family around him.’ Dolly was already removing her pinny.

  ‘Get me my coat, Pop. We’ll have to hurry. I don’t want Frank to be on his own one moment longer than he needs to be. Now go and tell the girls what’s happened while I gather a few things together for Frank.’