Hilda hadn’t yet met the agent, but her head was already full of stuff that was foreign to her. She tried to imagine how night would be here. There was probably no gas at this distance from town, certainly no electricity. It would be all oil lamps, candles, and wood-burning stoves. Scotland Road was a long way from perfect, but it wasn’t isolated. Scotland Road would be a target for Germans who might drift a short way east; Willows would be attacked only if a pilot needed to offload his bombs in order to retain sufficient fuel to reach home. The odds were in favour of the move.
The house was big, but not massive. Water was heated by a back boiler, and there was an indoor bathroom that served four large enough bedrooms. Downstairs, there were two sitting rooms, one of which was named a morning room, so Nellie immediately christened the larger of the two ‘the afternoon room’. There was also a dining room and a large kitchen. Any decay was not noticed by the three incomers, who were used to conditions infinitely worse than these. ‘I’m scared,’ Hilda whispered to Nellie.
‘Aye, it’s a big thing, isn’t it? A different life, that’s for sure. Safety’s a big bonus, though. But then there’s Mel.’
‘She won’t come.’ It was not a question.
‘Says she’s going to try to get digs in Crosby, somewhere near the school.’
‘I’ll pay,’ said Hilda.
‘No need. She’ll be classed as an evacuee with any luck, so they’ll get paid by the government. Eileen’ll miss her. So will I. And the lads are nothing but trouble. Do you realize what you’re taking on, Hilda?’
Jay had led Eileen outside to look at the stables, so the other two women could now talk in private.
Hilda nodded, a glint in her eye. ‘I know I’m just an ironer, Nellie, but I had a fairly decent education at Miss Millichamp’s academy. I’ll be their teacher to start with, then we’ll look for schools.’
Nellie sighed. ‘So, we’re doing it, then?’
‘I’m not leaving your children to die. You lost a good man in the previous conflict, and I believe poor Eileen’s husband was killed by half a ton of falling cargo. Those boys of yours may be out of hand, but so is every child in Rachel Street. Nellie, I am putting my foot down for once in my life. You’re coming.’
So it seemed to be settled before the agent even put in an appearance.
Nellie and Eileen stayed in the morning room while Hilda had her meeting with Keith Greenhalgh. It lasted just about half an hour, allowing a further half-hour for tea with scones made that morning by Jean Dyson and served very ably by Jay, who made an excellent cup of tea. Afterwards, the visitors were plied with more scones and bread, cabbages, tomatoes, home-grown potatoes, carrots and swedes. ‘Take them home,’ Jay told them. ‘Give your kiddies a taste of food straight from the soil. And here’s some butter from the best cows in Lancashire. You’ll be back,’ he said, winking at Nellie. ‘They’ll all be safer and better fed.’
‘Except for my Mel,’ Eileen sighed.
Nellie, too, was concerned about her granddaughter. She was pretty, far too pretty not to be a worry. Already, men and boys stared at her in the street, and she was much too young to be away from her family. Yet they could not, dared not, interfere with her education. She had been given a chance that was unheard of in the streets that flanked Scotland Road. And there was something about Mel that spoke of determination and single-mindedness. ‘We can’t force her, Eileen. She’s set her heart on Cambridge, and she’ll get there. It would be wrong if Hitler ruined her education.’
‘Yes, but she has to come to us in the holidays.’
‘She will. She might be a high flyer, but she’ll not neglect you, because her mam’s always been her world.’
They began the journey homeward. The days were shortening, and Hilda found herself worrying once again about the countryside and its blackness. Yet she had inherited a beautiful house, an immense acreage, several farms, and the responsibility that went along with all that. The row of houses on the Edge needed to be made waterproof for the winter, as did some parts of the main house. According to Keith Greenhalgh, the home farm was in good order, but Hilda might be responsible for some of the patching up required by the farms occupied by paying tenants. ‘I won’t know where to start,’ she said as they made the easier journey down from the moor.
‘But Keith and I do,’ Jay said. ‘Once you’ve sorted out the money, we can go from there. You won’t need to do much.’
Hilda disagreed. ‘I’m determined to learn,’ she said. ‘I’ve no intention of taking this lightly. I want to know about animals and ploughing and planting and—’
Jay laughed. ‘Hang on, Miss Pickavance, or you’ll have us all out of work before this war kicks off.’
They heard a few sirens as they made their way back to Liverpool. All these practices might well mean that no one would react when real bombardment threatened, because it was a bit like the boy who cried wolf.
The three women had enjoyed a taste of fresh, clean air, and they began to notice how much dirtier town life was. They were sleepy, too, just as they often were after a rare day in Southport. Clean air made a person lively, and liveliness made a person tired. It was probably the way humanity was meant to be, living in freshness, and sleeping well at night.
This time, Jay drove down the dock road, because he had never seen it before. Even so late in the day, men were working hard to unload cargo and bring in for storage as much as they could, especially where foodstuffs were concerned. Sea routes would be threatened for both Royal and merchant navies. Men’s lives could not be risked for the sake of a few bananas and pineapples – even molasses would be scarce, so every effort to stock up was being made. ‘You can’t stop here, Miss Pickavance,’ Jay said. ‘This lot will be a prime target, so you have to move inland. I mean, the Germans would be daft if they didn’t go for these docks.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. She was an heiress. Very suddenly, she had become a person of standing. And she didn’t know how to feel about that. Until now, Hilda had owned nothing beyond household goods and clothing. Money left after the deaths of her parents was salted away against her old age. ‘How many farms are there?’ she asked.
‘Only four, not counting the home farm.’
Only four. Four roofs, four families, four lots of rainwater goods, walls, doors, windows. ‘Tell Keith I want to know everything about the condition of those farmhouses. I’ll need written reports, and I do hope I’m not being a nuisance, Jay. So much to learn, you see.’
What Jay saw was a good woman who took duty seriously, probably too seriously. He grinned. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Miss Pickavance.’ How far removed she was from the expectations of Neil Dyson. Keith had told Jay about the ‘all lipstick and shoes’ description delivered by the home farm manager. There was little of the Chanel No. 5 about Hilda Pickavance, but there was a fine business head just waiting to become informed. Yes, she would make a good fist of it. If she failed at anything, it wouldn’t be for want of trying.
‘And if you would kindly ask the people in Willows Edge whether they have been approached by the authorities with regard to evacuation, I’d be grateful. At the farms, too, please. As you have seen for yourself, the children in this area are perilously near to a busy dock system.’
‘Certainly.’ He dropped them off, smiling as he watched them distributing fruit and vegetables from the boot of the car. It was a long way home, but for Miss Pickavance the journey would be much, much further. She was, in his opinion, an excellent and genteel woman. Qualities such as hers were much needed in times such as these. Adolf had better hang on to his hat. With people like this about, Britain would not roll over easily.
Mel came downstairs to meet Gran. ‘Where’s Mam?’ she asked.
‘With Miss Pickavance. She’s borrowing clothes so she can go to Crosby and look where you’ll be staying. What have you done with your brothers?’
Mel shrugged. ‘The hellions were not containable, and I have maths homework. They’re probably chasing molasses
up the dock road, or stealing from the late shop. What happened, Gran?’
Nellie told her granddaughter about the day’s adventure. She spoke of acres of undulating land, beautiful greens, dry stone walls and pretty little houses, also of stone. Miss Pickavance was an extremely rich woman, and she intended to shelter as many children as possible from these mean streets. Nellie spoke about the willow trees and how they had to be placed, about Jay, their driver, and Keith Greenhalgh, who was the steward, or the agent, or some such fancy thing. ‘It’s out in the wilds, Mel. The sort of place where you could stick one of the poor folk with TB and watch while the disease got blown out of them. There’s horses, pigs, sheep, chickens and goats. Oh, and prize-winning cattle. And orchards, and field after field of veg. It was a lot to take in, because we only stopped a couple of hours. Listen, when your mam comes home in a minute, Miss Pickavance wants a quick word with you.’
‘Right.’ Mel sat down. ‘Gran?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘What’ll happen to our house? This house?’
Nellie parked herself next to her favourite person. ‘We’ll have to let it go.’
‘So . . . I’ll have no home?’
Nellie closed her eyes against the pain that came with war. ‘Your home will be a very grand and proper house north of Bolton. It has a back boiler and its own bathroom, mile after mile of land, a car, horses and tractors. That’s where your mother and I will be, so that’s your new address.’
‘But what about here? I mean, I know my school’s in Crosby, but this is home.’
‘And you’re not ashamed. I know you’re not.’
Mel lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance known to everyone in this house and in several households further afield. ‘Look, Gran. There are girls – and boys for that matter – all over Crosby and Blundellsands who’ve been to prep schools and crammers, and they still didn’t get a place. I’m living proof that a person who doesn’t have her own pony, a grand piano, and a twenty-roomed house on Merrilocks Road can still have the brains, the fire and the belly required to make it all the way up to Oxbridge. I’m a pioneer. And when I’m a don, or whatever, I shall still come back here and show them what can be done.’
Nellie blinked the wetness from her eyes. Mel was one in a million, and she was so proud of this granddaughter that she felt she might burst. ‘But we can’t pay rent on a house we’re not using, love. And you mustn’t live down here. That’s the whole point in what we’re doing – this is going to be a battle zone. Me and your mam are taking the hellions, as you call them, miles away, but we can’t take you, because of the school. You could go to Crosby, which might be a bit safer, but you can’t live here. So you come with us, or it’s Crosby.’
‘Crosby.’
‘There you go, then. Now, get across and see Miss Pickavance, and tell your mam to get back here, because she’s three sons missing.’
Hilda was pleased with herself. She’d found a nice grey suit, a white blouse and a pair of decent shoes for Eileen. Eileen wanted to make an impression, and Hilda understood, since she, too, had lived for many years among grime, destitution and hopelessness. If Mel was going to spend the duration in a doctor’s house, her mother wanted to feel comfortable in the presence of company that probably considered itself to be elevated.
As Eileen left the house, her daughter entered.
‘Well,’ said Hilda while the girl sat down. ‘So you’re going to live in Crosby?’
‘Yes, Miss Pickavance.’
‘Then we can help each other.’
‘Really?’
Hilda expressed the opinion that most raids would happen during the hours of darkness. ‘If you can, and only if it’s safe, try to let me know what’s going on. I shall pay you, of course, but—’
‘I don’t want paying, Miss Pickavance.’
Hilda held up a hand. ‘Stop the nonsense, Mel. All your friends will have spending money, and you won’t.’
The famous chin came up. ‘I shall do a paper round.’
‘I’m sure you will. But come here when you can and look at my house in daylight. Write to me. Tell me about . . . everything.’
‘Even the bad stuff?’
‘Yes, of course.’
From that moment, these two understood one another completely. They shared common sense, intelligence and a terrible hunger for knowledge. Mel was to have a key to Hilda’s house, and she would write a letter each week to let her benefactor know what was happening in Liverpool, and she must write the truth, or as much of the truth as she could discover. ‘I won’t let you down,’ she said. ‘Unless it’s all beyond me.’
‘I know.’ Hilda stood up. ‘So, that’s that.’
Yes, that was that. Nellie, Eileen and her three boys would be living at Willows. Soon, other needful children might be plucked from these streets and from their families, but Hilda was depending on the co-operation of tenant farmers and people who lived at Willows Edge. For now, she had to wait. Like many others, she hoped that Hitler, too, was playing a waiting game.
Three
Eileen looked wonderful. In a slate grey skirt and jacket donated to the cause by Hilda Pickavance, she was elegance personified. Nellie looked at her daughter, saw what might have been, then turned away to attend to her pan of scouse. Eileen should have had a chance in life, because she was beautiful, and the white blouse, good shoes and leather bag served only to underline what had already been there. No fashion house had created the bone structure, the natural poise, the grace of Eileen Watson. She was beautiful inside, too, because she was a good, clever woman who should have received a better education. Well, she was good and clever till she ran out of patience—
‘Mam?’
Nellie stopped stirring the stew. ‘Yes?’
‘How do I look in this lot?’
The older woman adjusted the expression in her eyes. ‘Marvellous, queen.’ She wouldn’t cry, mustn’t cry. ‘I should have done more for you. After all, you were my one and only. I think God looked at you, saw perfection, and decided I’d had enough luck. You should have gone to a good school. I ought to have got you away from here so that you might have had a chance of something better than—’
‘No, Mam. Our Mel will do it all. ‘But . . .’ She sat down. ‘Thirteen, Mam. It’s not just an unlucky number – it’s an awkward age. If this war goes on for four or five years, she’ll be a young woman. And I won’t have been here for her. I know it’s three against one, except it’s not against, but you know what I mean. The boys need me. She needs me. But I have to go with the majority.’
Nellie knew exactly what was going through her daughter’s head. Already a beautiful girl, Mel could become a target for any hungry male, and, with blackouts, bombings and panics, a young female with no family behind her might get into all kinds of trouble. It felt as if they were planning for the protection of three sturdy lads, while leaving a vulnerable, academically gifted girl to the vagaries of chance.
‘Oh, Mam. Could Hitler not have waited a few years?’ Nellie nodded thoughtfully. In the house belonging to the Bingley family, there was a boy the same age as Mel. Gloria Bingley had a twin brother and he, too, would be growing up. A cold sweat played up and down the length of her spine. She remembered her own teenage years, the power of that first surge of hormones. ‘Eileen?’ ‘What?’
‘I’ll take the boys to Willows. You stay and mind Mel.’ Eileen’s jaw dropped for a moment. Had her beloved mother gone mad? Philip, Rob and Bertie were almost beyond retrieval, and they hadn’t yet reached the terrible teen years. Quite frequently, it took all three female members of the household to find them, as they had no sense of time, no sense of much, in fact. They ran for illegal bookies, helped fence stuff stolen from the docks, were involved directly or peripherally with most minor crimes that took place in the Cazneau Street and Scotland Road areas of Liverpool, and were completely out of hand on a regular basis. They were noisy, naughty, disobedient and irreverent. ‘Mam, you can’t do it.’
/> ‘I can and I will. You just watch me. And there’s a fair bit more to Hilda Pickavance than any of us thought.’ There was more to Nellie’s Eileen, too. She’d read all the classics, had educated herself to a high standard . . .
Eileen sighed. ‘This house will be dangerous whether there are two of us or six of us living in it.’
Nellie had thought about that, too. Eileen cleaned for a Miss Morrison in Blundellsands. Miss Morrison was growing frail. With only herself and Mel to care for, Eileen might volunteer to help the elderly lady and take shelter in lieu of pay. Mel could walk to school, and Eileen would be living near to all the houses she cleaned. ‘I know you’re meeting Mel outside Merchants at four o’clock, but that doesn’t stop you going to talk to Miss Morrison first, eh? I mean, you’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain.’
‘But Mam—’
‘But nothing. There are men up at Willows, and there are no docks, no shops, no bookies. I may not know them, but I reckon Jay from the gatehouse, that Neil from Willows Home Farm and Keith will be able to handle our three rogues. Ask yourself this, Eileen. Can you leave her? Can you walk away from that girl?’
‘Oh, Mam. The boys’ll kill you. They’re too much. We should offer them to the government as weaponry.’
‘Look, I’ll have help. They can run wild where there’s no damage to be done. And it’ll be all hands on deck when the show kicks off, because young ones will do the work of men, men who’ll be off fighting the bloody Germans.’
It was a dilemma. Eileen could stay behind with her daughter, and might save that daughter from any potential mishaps. In doing that, she could be signing her own mother’s death warrant, because the three boys were hard to handle. But Mel needed looking after. She was not a parcel to be passed over for the duration, something that could be picked up from Lost Property after the war had run its course. ‘Hilda’s going to run a little school at the big house. How on earth will she cope with our Albert?’ Albert, usually named Bertie, was the one who had stolen the horse.
That Liverpool Girl Page 4